


The Fine Line

by Kissy



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Child Death, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Medicinal Drug Use, Post-Cell Games Saga, Pregnant Sex, Separation and Talk of Divorce, Stoned Sex, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:43:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissy/pseuds/Kissy
Summary: Reeling in the aftermath of bereavement and grief; after blame is assigned and guilt is shouldered; after every what-if scenario is replayed and, in the end, when the ashes are finally spread; Bulma and Vegeta learn that there is a fine line between love and hate. Together, they look for forgiveness and healing and a way to move on from shocking, soul-shattering loss.Set after Cell Games during the 7 years Son is dead.





	1. Prologue

The blameless blue sky peeked through the heavy, darkened blackout curtains behind him as the weight of guilt and grief slowly crushed him, and he wondered idly if anyone he knew would give a tinker's damn if he hanged himself tonight.

The man slowly raised his drooping head and gazed at the tiny urn to his right. That urn shouldn't exist, not in a world with even one just and kind deity. _That_ made him laugh, and his derisive internal laughter tasted sour. He found out the hard way that this world's 'guardian' was anything _but_ just and kind.

It wasn't right that the little pot sat there, quiet and unimposing, on its almost absurdly tremendous altar. The pictures that surrounded the urn made up for its small stature. What was left of the dead sat memorialized by scores of photographs of loving family members and friends – and of himself – with the dead.

The man blinked, heavy lidded and bleary-eyed, at the photograph nearest to the urn. It was a picture of the big one and the little one, perhaps one-half year after the little one's birth. The little brat's sweet, sunny grin flashed all two teeth.

Easy, burning tears filled the man's great dark eyes, which he resolutely choked back. He didn't deserve to cry. When he finished swallowing his bitterness, he turned his head in the opposite direction to stare at the big one as the boy lay sprawled out on the parlor's Turkish carpet, scribbling in his coloring books. The boy was innocent to this spectacle, this... _horror_.

The boy glanced at his mother, jumped up and ran to her for a cuddle. His smile shone as brightly as the sun while his mother stood with her hands touching his shoulders. She seemed so brittle as she was eclipsed by her boy's light. Her azure eyes flicked over her son's head and met her mate's inky-black ones. They stayed that way for a few gravid moments, watching each other as he silently longed to be near her, before she broke her shaky gaze.

Oh, he ached to reach out to his woman and hold her close during her time of mourning. Her grief was nearly palpable, as dull and heavy as his own sense of loss felt to himself. He wanted so badly to press her head onto his shoulder and weep into her hair and rock together with her, slowly, on the heels of their feet. Maybe they'd find some solace in each other's proximity, but it wasn't meant to be. His mate refused to reach out to him.

Good. She deserved better, anyway.

Someone walked past him, resolutely not meeting his eyes, to pay his respects at the altar and to light another of those damned joss-sticks. When the smoke wafted in his direction, he waved his hand before his face. The person wielding the joss-stick walked past him – and as he did so, the martial artist's _ajna_ swiveled in his direction. A very odd mixture of disgust and pity flitted across the mourner's face.

The _Ouji_ wanted nothing more, at that moment, to be dead himself. He wanted it so badly he could taste it.

Thank all the Gods in existence that his son had no idea what... _this..._ was, this thing that was meant to honor the dead, to pay respects to passed loved ones. Who was this memorial service _for_ , really? The dead person? Why the hell would they care? They're _dead_.

Was this memorial for the grieving? It ought to be, shouldn't it? So why did he feel so undeserving of comfort from the woman and the woman's friends and family? None of them had looked him squarely in the eye since arriving at this macabre shindig. Did they think he was responsible for all this? If that were the case, he wouldn't fault them that, not in the slightest.

Because he _was_ responsible. He was the author of all this misery.

This was _his_ fault.


	2. Adrift

_I'll give a little bit_

_I'll give a little bit of my life for you_

_So give a little bit_

_Give a little bit of your time to me_

_See the man with the lonely eyes_

_Oh, take his hand, you'll be surprised._

_Supertramp - Give A Little Bit_

1

Kakarotto's sacrifice had left its mark on him.

Dear sweet merciful Gods above, the shame he felt seared him, burning deep under his skin. Kakarotto gave his own life to save his son and the rest of _Chikkyu_ , and all he could do for his own son as he bled out before his eyes was have a pitiful tantrum before Perfect Cell baggage-slapped the pride out of him.

His god-damned pride. It was all he had left that he could call his own. He simply _knew_ he was the better man.

So why did Vegeta feel so damned tiny after Kakarotto did what he did? Was it the fact that Vegeta loved to tout his royal blood, and how he was elite amongst the elite, and that Kakarotto was beneath him in every way? And then Kakarotto made a fool of him and willingly gave his life to save _Chikkyu,_ without a second thought in his empty head, and proved to Vegeta that the lowborn one was the better man. He planned to keep that hard, ugly nugget of knowledge to himself until his dying day, but it hurt...and it tasted so bitter.

After all was said and done – after the dust settled and the survivors went home to live their lives in relative peace – he promised to no one but himself that he'd never fight again.

And if _that_ wasn't cutting off his own nose to spite his face, he didn't know what was.

2

Vegeta remembered a time he trained every day, from dawn to dusk, pushing his body to its limits. For a time, he ignored his woman to do the one thing he knew how to do well. He could almost feel his body being pushed to the edge, day after day, minute after minute. When he was done tearing himself apart (sometimes training for days at a time), he would find his old bedroom and drop onto the sweat-soaked futon. He wouldn't bother going to the room that he and Bulma took to sharing. He couldn't bear her gaze, even as he slept. He wanted to be alone, anyway. Sleep was preferable to being awake. Pain didn't follow you into sleep. It was so much like being dead.

But after a few days of that, he found himself lonely again...found himself thinking of the woman as she played with the brat and talked to him and nursed him in the morning sun. She would sit on the divan in the baby's nursery, her head propped on the back of the chaise, and would chat with Trunks as he took nourishment from her. Sometimes Vegeta would seek them out there, and materialize in the doorway and just watch them in silence. He would stand there with a pang, wanting to approach them and stroke her cheek to alert her to his presence, and maybe take the brat in his arms and cuddle him close for a moment.

Sometimes, when he sought out his woman and little son, they would sense him there in the nursery doorway, and Bulma would beckon him closer. Rarely, but much more welcome, the baby would tilt his little face toward him and smile around his mother's areola as he nursed. He would raise one chubby fist, opening and closing it two or three times in greeting to his Papa.

It was days like that, when the baby gave him that smile meant only for Papa, that he would enter the nursery and spend one or two glorious moments with his family. Most of the time, he would turn on his heel and walk away from them. He would hear Bulma sigh behind him as he walked away, sounding so much like cold wind through dead grass, and his heart would lurch without knowing precisely why.

He wanted to hold the boy in the worst way, but the kid's mother?

What about Bulma? Oh, Gods. He ached to touch her. The ache went bone-deep, like during that mad, fever-dream of a month in which they couldn't keep their hands off each other and eventually made Trunks.

Yes. It was all about rutting with the woman, _then_. It had nothing to do with affection. It had nothing to do with love. He wanted Bulma – no, he _needed_ her, like green, growing things needed water and the sun. He could smell the heat of her skin every time she drew near; he could taste her in the back of his throat. She inflamed Vegeta's senses when he was awake, but to his horror, Bulma followed him into his sleep, doing things to him he could only dream of.

_Then._

3

During that first fevered month, she showed Vegeta what she wanted him to do to her. At first, it bothered him that Bulma felt the need to hold his hand through their...well, what was it, exactly? Not lovemaking, _surely_. He was skilled enough to put his dick into an available hole, he thought, and had proven that fact a whole four times in the past, with three willing and _very_ well-paid whores. But this woman clearly thought differently. In retrospect, he was glad Bulma took matters into her own hands, sometimes literally.

They spent that time together learning what made the other squirm and scream and gasp with want. He would guide her hands to where he wanted to be touched. She would take him by the hair and pull his mouth down to kiss her between her legs, something that almost always got a cock-stand out of him. She would wrap her limbs around him when it was his turn to be on top. Vegeta let Bulma do whatever she wanted sexually, because the more they fucked, the less it felt like fucking and the more it felt like...something else. It started to feel like something that made his chest constrict and his breath come up short; whatever it was, it felt like something he never wanted to end. He would hold onto his orgasm with both hands, sometimes, when her lips would brush his and their tongues touched, fleetingly. He loved to watch her expression change the moment he first slid into her, and he loved when her eyes slipped shut and she tossed her head on her pillow and came, whispering his name into his ear over and over. Gods, he loved it so much when she made music of his name. His hips would stutter and, almost against his will, he would grunt her own name into her shoulder.

And then Bulma was up the duff, and playtime ended.

When Vegeta learned of the baby, the very idea of his bastard disgusted him. A purist at heart, he was horrified at himself and the blasted woman for allowing a Saiya-jin hybrid to be made. They fought mercilessly with each other that night. She asked him for nothing but to be around for her and the baby when it was born. Bulma could feed Vegeta, and clothe him, and keep a roof over his head, and make love to him until Gabriel blew his Judgment Trump, but all she wanted in return was for him to stick around and acknowledge the baby. His riposte was to earnestly beg her to abort the pregnancy. He was willing to stay with her and be her mate, forever if she wanted

(and _he_ wanted... _Gods,_ he wanted, not to put too fine a point on it)

but he could not be part of this child's life. It was an abomination, and a half-breed...a _mutt._ Kakarotto's brat was a mutt. Kakarotto was low and stupid enough to knock a human woman up and loose a Saiya-jin halfling upon this universe. Vegeta, Saiya-jin _Ouji_ , was not low. He was not stupid. And he refused to be a father to a half-breed bastard.

The very next day after that last sleepless night in her bedroom, where they had shrieked themselves hoarse, when Bulma threw every last breakable item she owned and Vegeta shattered the bedroom's windows with his bare fists, leaving his hands lacerated and bleeding, he stole Capsule 3 and took off to points unknown.

He sought out worlds that needed to be destroyed. He found life that needed extermination. He pushed himself, nearly to death, and ascended to Super Saiya-jin, and made his way back to the planet he now considered a way-station in his travels; his goal was to take on the Androids that threatened to destroy _Chikkyu_ and leave the world a god. But it was more than that. During his interstellar travels, begun while the baby was still inside Bulma's belly and done after she pushed and screamed the baby into this world, he drove himself until he dropped, but what kept him going was the image of his woman greeting him when he returned to her.

And what did Vegeta do when he finally did return to _Chikkyu_? What did he do when his woman ran to him, with his love-child in her arms?

The fool pushed her away. His reward? Bulma's first look of genuine disgust, hand-tooled especially for him. She made a _moue_ and nodded once, then turned on her heel and walked away without another word.

Since that point, until Cell killed his future son, they shared very few civil words and enjoyed only one private moment together. The night before the Games began, they spent a single hour together; in their defense, they tried to recapture the passion they experienced during that frenzied month when Trunks came to be. The only difference was that first month was torrid, and the one paltry hour they spent on his ratty old futon – their last hurrah before the Games – was joyless.

Vegeta would have enjoyed this act with Bulma – even when they were furious with each other the sex was hotter than the hinges of Hell's gates – were it not for the nagging thought in the back of his mind. He had planned to leave _Chikkyu_ after this was all over. He had never wanted to be a father, not in a million billion years, and now that fatherhood was thrust upon him, he couldn't think, he couldn't function...he couldn't even handle this simple act with the woman anymore.

The nagging thought: did he? Did he _really_ want to leave her – _them_ – behind?

Near the end of the failure their tryst turned into, he covered her body with his and pumped her hard. When he felt his end coming, he yanked his cock out of her and spent himself on the sheet between her legs. He attempted to get his breathing under control, bit by bit, trying to enjoy the weak, rubbery spasms that had passed for his orgasm. Vegeta finally looked into Bulma's eyes. His guts lurched when he came to his decision. “No more,” he panted, and rolled off his mate onto his back. He covered his face with one forearm. “I can't stay here anymore.”

Damn it. _Damn_ it all. He kept calling Bulma his mate in his head, and he couldn't stop.

While he cursed himself for a fool, Bulma slowly dressed herself in silence. She walked in the direction of the room's doorway, stopping for a heartbeat next to her lover's side of the bed. Without raising her eyes to Vegeta's, Bulma sighed deeply. “Be careful tomorrow,” she said to the tops of her bare feet. After she left, he felt more alone than he had ever felt in his entire life, and that was saying something.

4

Capsule Corp. was so quiet. It still existed, so the Cell Games either hadn't ended yet, or _Chikkyu's_ champions had won the day. Bulma hoped it was the latter. She knew what happened to her friends – and Vegeta – in the future. She knew Juunana-Gou and Juuhachi-Gou killed them, not Perfect Cell, so maybe...maybe there was hope. Maybe her future son brought hope to the past along with the life-saving medicine for Son.

All Trunks had in the future was hope and his mother... _her_. His family's friends were dead. His father was dead. All that was left was Gohan. The boy deserved to win the day for once.

Bulma looked down at her sleeping infant son, gently tracing the curves of the baby's chubby cheeks with one finger and wondering if Vegeta looked this sweet when he was born. She decided he must have looked just like this, and wondered what happened to him to cause him to be the way he was. Not for the first time, Bulma felt a sickening wave of pity for the man. How was he raised to become the monster he ended up as? Was it because of Freeza, or did it begin much earlier than that? Was he born that way?

It was for the best that he had decided to go away, then. No matter how much Bulma wanted to forgive him for all the terrible things he had done up to that point, no matter if she was hit hard with the realization that she was in love with him despite everything, it was wrong to entrap him in a situation he simply did not want to be in. _You know what they say,_ she thought to herself. _If you love something, set it free._

Hope.

She padded to the baby's nursery, and placed Trunks in his crib. While the child slept, Bulma sent her own hope out to her future son, her friends, and the asshole she had chosen to be mated to.

The front door opened with a faint squeak. Bulma's heart jumped into her throat. So as not to wake the baby she walked on tiptoes, laughing to herself, to the front vestibule. They had all the money in the world, and neither her Papa nor herself could fix the squeak the front door made.

Turning the corner past the dining room, she walked with purpose to the vestibule, expecting Trunks and maybe Yamcha. What she didn't expect was Vegeta.

Gone was the haughty, smug expression she saw most often on his face. Gone was the stance he usually took, arms folded over his chest, which was usually thrust out like a bantam rooster, his head cocked to the side, chin tilted pugnaciously up. He stood in the doorway, alone. His shoulders had rolled forward, his arms hanging loosely. His face was as white as paper. His mouth trembled. He looked spent, and he looked _hurt_.

Almost against her will, Bulma ran to him. “Vegeta! Are you all right? Do you need a Senzu? What...”

“Are you alone?” Vegeta looked past Bulma's shoulder, and swallowed hard. “Is there anyone else here?”

“Well,” said Bulma, quirking one of her eyebrows, “Mama and Papa are in their quarters, but there's no one else here besides them and the baby.”

He nodded, and slowly held his hands out to her. “I need two things right now.”

Bulma could have been a smart-ass right then, considering how the revelation of his departure was fresh and it still stung. She could have told him to go scratch his ass with a broken bottle. She could have told him to get out then and there. But she couldn't. She couldn't bring herself to send him away, not with the look of _hurt_ on his face. She inhaled deeply, and nodded. “What do you need?”

He took a great, watery breath. “You.” His hands slid through the space between them, and cradled her face. “I need you to hold me.”

Touched by the raw yearning in his voice, Bulma took a step closer to her erstwhile lover. Almost against her will, Bulma's arms snaked around Vegeta's broad shoulders, and she drew him close. His arms looped around her waist, and there they stood in the vestibule, Vegeta trembling in Bulma's arms. She ran her fingers through his hair, and he sighed against her shoulder. “So, what was the other thing you needed?”

“Trunks,” he said quietly. “It's his nap-time now, isn't it?” His Adam's apple bobbed nervously. “I want to be near him, but...I know how much I scare him. I need to hold him while he's asleep.”

Bulma murmured her acquiescence immediately, to which Vegeta exhaled in relief, and buried his face in her throat.

Suddenly, the bottom dropped out of Bulma's stomach. The sky outside grew dark as pitch.

Shenron had been summoned.

She pulled her head away from Vegeta's shoulder, standing nose-to-nose with him. “Vegeta,” she said suddenly, “Where's Trunks?”

He locked eyes with Bulma. “I...think he's at Kami's Lookout.”

She suddenly couldn't breathe past the lump in her throat. “Is he all right?”

Blinking, Vegeta pressed his lips together. “He will be. Shenron hasn't ever wished Trunks back, so it should be all right.”

 _Dead. Oh, Gods, he's dead._ She gasped harshly. “What happened?”

“Perfect Cell happened. He ambushed us when we thought he had been defeated, and he fired an energy beam into our group. I don't think he was aiming for anyone in particular.” His chest hitched. “He hit Trunks. The shot took him by surprise. Had it hit any of us, it would have been the same. Cell killed him...” he said, his mouth quivering. “...He killed my son.” His eyes met Bulma's again, as his arms wound around her waist. “He'll be all right, but it still hurts. Maybe we can hold each other some more, for a little bit?”

Bulma didn't answer him; she and he held each other in the vestibule of their home, rocking slowly in each other's arms.

Her heart spoke to her then. _Now, girl. You need to tell him now._ She drew her intestinal fortitude to the fore. “Vegeta?"

“Mmm?” he mumbled from the valley between her shoulder and neck.

“I...” _Now, Bulma._ She took a deep breath. “I love you.”

Vegeta started in her arms. He slowly drew away from her, a spooked expression on his face that Bulma didn't care for one bit. “What?” He made a small noise of bafflement. “ _Why_?”

She bristled. “If you don't want to hear it, don't make me say it again!”

“You don't understand me. I just want to know why,” said Vegeta, moving his head once in negation. “Why do you love me?” He was becoming agitated, and Bulma wanted to calm him quickly so he wasn't disturbed when he held Trunks.

Bulma was at a loss. “I...I don't know why I do. I just do.” Her face fell. “What don't you understand? Don't you love _me?”_

He curled his hands into fists. “I don't know!” He turned on the balls of his feet suddenly, and put one of his fists into the wall next to the door. _“I don't know!”_ he repeated, panting. He yanked his fist out of the wall, plaster dust sifting from his hand. Vegeta strode with purpose to Bulma, and took her shoulders. He gently shook her for emphasis, pressing his face close to hers, their noses touching. “I have no idea what love is! I want to make you happy, but I can't because I don't know _how_ to!”

“You...want to, but you don't know how,” said she, pursing her lips angrily. “What do you take me for, Vegeta? I'm not an imbecile.”

“I know! It's why I'm asking you for your help.” He cradled one of her cheeks in his palm. “You're my heart's blood, and you always will be. I just don't know how to show it. I need you to show _me_.”

“All right,” said Bulma, gently coaxing him into calming down. She reached out and stroked the flat plane of his cheek. “All right. Baby steps, okay?” She ran her fingers through his hair, something that she knew would soothe him in a hurry. “I don't know how to show you, either, but you and I can work on that together, all right? It takes time, and I'm willing to be patient.”

Vegeta quieted. He pressed his forehead to Bulma's, and wrapped his fingers around her waist. He bobbed his head in acknowledgment. “All right. I am, too. Together, then.”

“Together.”

5

Thirty minutes later, they stood over Trunks' crib. Vegeta drew off his bloodstained gloves and reached into the crib to retrieve Trunks. He clumsily held the baby to his shoulder, and walked to Bulma's chaise. When Vegeta sat down, he fumbled the baby against his chest for a moment until instinct took over and he cradled the baby more comfortably.

He drew Trunks' hat from his head and smoothed his hair from his forehead, then looked up at Bulma. “I want you to be here for this, but I need you not to interrupt Trunks and I. This might take a while.” He glanced down at the baby again, heaving a sigh. “My lineage goes back a fair way, and I don't have my father here to correct me if I forget an ancestor.”

Bulma drew a chair closer to the chaise, and sat down. She frowned. “I don't understand, but I won't interrupt. Do you think the baby will fuss if he wakes up halfway through whatever it is you're gonna do?”

“No...he oughtn't,” said Vegeta. “This is something that he'll sit through, and he'll absorb it, and he'll remember it when his own children are born. I know he's a halfling, but his Saiya-jin instinct should kick in.”

The front door squeaked again.

Baby Trunks stirred in his father's arms, snuffling against his tiny balled fists before settling down again, pressing his body against his Papa's broad chest. Vegeta gave his son the tiniest of smiles, before addressing the doorway. “Son, you can watch if you want. Don't interrupt.”

“All right, Dad,” said Future Trunks.

Bulma turned her head to the door; her future son stood there. He was a mess. Trunks was still covered in half-dried blood, and his armor had a massive hole over his heart. Bulma's own heart squeezed in her chest.

Vegeta nodded, then took a deep breath and addressed the infant in his arms. _“Uratavash, Bejiita. Suno donrei o monesh.”_

Future Trunks made a tiny sound in the doorway. His jaw dropped in sudden recognition.

Vegeta kept his attention on his infant son. He spoke to the baby in a singsong lilt that sounded nothing like the Common tongue of _Chikkyu_. After five minutes of the _Ouji's_ quiet chant, Baby Trunks woke up. He blinked in confusion at the man who usually scared the bejesus out of him. Vegeta nearly lost his place in the chant when he saw Trunks was awake, but pressed on. If he screwed this up, he'd never have the chance to do it again.

Trunks listened to his father chant, mesmerized. He suddenly reached up and touched his father's chin. “Aaa!” he said to Vegeta.

“That's right,” said Vegeta to Trunks. He drew his arms closer to his face, and touched his forehead to Trunks' head. He continued to intone to the baby, while the baby continued to sit entranced by his words.

As the sun shone through the baby's window, as the forget-me-not blue sky remained as blameless as it always had, Future Trunks pushed his knuckles against his mouth to stay the sob that threatened to erupt. When he took his hands from his lips, he mouthed the chant along with his father.

In his time, Vegeta chanted his family's song to him before his death. And Trunks remembered.

_He remembered._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I kinda wish I was able to post this sooner, but life happens. I would write one paragraph at a time, as time permitted. This chapter also seems a little short to me, and I apologize for that. You should have seen the chapter before I broke it up. It ended up being almost twenty-five thousand words long. It would have taken a year to read it.
> 
> In regards to the Saiya-jin tongue, I do have plans with that eventually, in a later chapter. I sincerely don't want to think of it right now, as creating a language from scratch scares the cheese out of me, and I don't have the time in my life right now to dedicate to it.
> 
> I just realized four whole paragraphs were missing from part 2. I've remedied that today. Sorry if the story seemed a little...off, before (if this is not your first read-through).
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. 
> 
> Later.


	3. Sweets

_It's all too much for me to see_

_A love that's shining all around here_

_The more I am, the less I know_

_And what I do is all too much._

_The Beatles - It's All Too Much_

1

“ _Must_ you?” Vegeta held his hands up, palms out, at Bulma. “I _really_ don't want to hear it today.”

Bulma pulled a sour face. “Look! I just don't want your son to be a bastard his whole life. I think I'm being very patient with you about this...and besides, all I want to do is talk about it!”

A dark, angry flush leaked from Vegeta's collar and spread, blooming, into his cheeks. “And I _don't_. That's what you don't understand. I just don't want to discuss it today

_(or ever, never ever EVER)_

and your goading me into a conversation about marriage is going to make me not want to discuss it even more.” He approached Bulma with a faint air of menace, and pressed his face pugnaciously into hers. “Be grateful I've acknowledged the brat and am willing to be a part of his life. Be grateful I have openly vowed to be your mate for the rest of my life.” He reached up and surprised Bulma when he thumbed a lock of hair from her forehead. His expression became plaintive. “How I feel about you has not changed for the worse, Bulma, and it never will. Please don't push the issue. _Please._ ”

Contempt and confusion fought for dominance on Vegeta's countenance. He turned on his heel, one final look over his shoulder at his mate for good measure, and stomped out of the room.

When he left, slamming the door behind him, Bulma stood in the middle of their kitchen nook, deflated. She poured herself a cup of joe and sat on a stool by the counter. She took a sip of coffee, placed her cup on the scarred butcher block, and burst into heavy, braying tears. She pressed her palms into her eye sockets, her fingers massaging the place just over her eyes on her forehead, the pain bearable but beginning to cycle up into a real banger.

Trunks looked up from his bouncy chair, and immediately joined in on his mama's wails. Screaming and arguing, he could handle. His mama's tears, he could not.

As if she was conjured out of Bulma's sheer will, Panchy entered the kitchen nook and plucked Trunks from his bouncy chair. She balanced the baby on her hip, and stroked Bulma's back. "Need a little something-something, Sweetie? A cup of tea?”

“No,” she said, sniffling. She slowly got herself under control, but the headache would not go gently. “I've already spoken with my GP. She knows the headaches are getting worse. Nothing works any more.”

“I see that.” Panchy pressed her grand-baby onto her shoulder, patting his back to soothe him.

Trunks quieted eventually, reducing his sobs to sniffles and the occasional hiccup. As Bulma finished her cup of coffee, Panchy motioned to the empty cup. “Should you drink that? Aren't you breastfeeding?”

“I'm weaning Trunks,” said Bulma. She wiped tears from her cheek with the heel of her hand. “A little caffeine in my milk won't hurt him.”

Panchy grabbed a zwieback cookie from a jar on the counter, and presented it to Trunks. He grabbed it with a crow of delight and began gnawing at it with enthusiasm. “Sweetie, it's still so early. You can still nurse him. He's had teeth for months now. Is _that_ the problem?”

“No.” Bulma. “Doctor Katsumi told me I most likely suffer from migraines. One cup of coffee might not hurt the baby, but ergotamine and painkillers will...I'm weaning him while I can, so when I start whatever medication we decide on, he'll already have stopped nursing and won't get a dose of it.”

“All right. That's smart.” They lapsed into a companionable silence. Panchy drew Trunks' high chair to the table and deposited him in it. When he was secure, she went about preparing some jammy toast for Bulma.

“Mama, I'm not hungry,” said Bulma, when she noticed what her mother was doing. “Don't bother.”

“Hush. You need to eat, so you're gonna eat.” She placed a plate of toast and strawberry jam before her daughter, who, to give her credit, smiled gamely and gingerly took a slice of toast.

She looked wan and drawn. The light had dimmed from her eyes. “Okay, Mama. I'll try.”

Panchy caressed her daughter's shoulder. “Good girl.” She made herself a cup of coffee, and poured Bulma a cup. When she tried to beg off again, Panchy ignored Bulma's demurral. “Pish-posh. The caffeine will help with that headache.” She pointed at the mug. “Drink it.”

“Yes, ma'am,” she said, giving up.

Panchy sat to enjoy her coffee and one of Trunks' cookies. Another silence descended, this one shorter. This time Panchy broke the quiet. “Sex helps, too.”

“Mama!” Bulma felt her cheeks turn pink.

Panchy sipped her coffee, unfazed. “Well, it _does_. But you need release, that's the part that helps. Don't just let him wham-bam-thanks-ma'am.” She grinned savagely at Bulma. “Make him kiss your naughty bits.” She arched her eyebrows. “If you're anything like me, that'd be _your_ favorite thing, too.”

“ _Mama!”_ This was the very last thing she wanted to discuss with her mother. She shuddered in disgust. “Now I have the mental image of you and Papa... _tcha_ , thanks a _lot_ , Mama.”

Rolling her eyes outrageously, Panchy gave Bulma a look of disbelief. “Oh, come on. I didn't raise a fuddy-duddy, did I? Everyone makes whoopie.”

“I'm going to pretend you didn't say the word 'whoopie' while referring to sex, Mama.”

Cackling, Panchy was delighted to have found Bulma's gross-out button, and pressed it with gusto. “...Papa's mustache tickles.”

Bulma made a disgusted face, but couldn't help herself from bursting into peals of laughter. “You're a _barbarian_ , Mama.”

They laughed together for a few minutes, Trunks laughing along with them, not knowing one whit about what they were laughing about. Panchy wiped her streaming eyes. “Feel better?”

“Yeah,” said Bulma, not physically better but feeling more like herself nonetheless.

Panchy let her giggles taper off, sighing. She raised her coffee cup to her lips. “Don't fight with him anymore. Not about getting hitched.”

Bulma stared at her mother in silence.

She continued. “Don't push it. He's here for the long haul. He may not say it, but he loves the hell outta you. When he's ready, he'll tell you.”

Bulma fetched a deep breath. “You're right, Mama...okay. No more fighting.”

2

One weekend morning, perhaps two weeks before Trunks' first Solar return and two weeks after his parents' latest row about tying the knot, the beggars had begun to arrive at Capsule Corp. It confounded Vegeta. All of them were children, and all of them wanted candy. These brats had dressed themselves in their best, most ridiculous costumes, most likely in an attempt to win their coveted confections.

Panchy decided to join in the festivities and had donned a bright orange dress and pointy hat, whilst dumping metric tons of full-sized candy bars into the vast hordes of pillowcases and skull-shaped buckets thrust through the entrance of their front door.

The Saiya-jin prince stood near the front door and watched the older woman give cavities to hundreds of children. He turned to his mate. “This is so bizarre. You say this is a _Chikkyu_ tradition?”

“An ancient tradition, yes, but not everyone on _Chikkyu_ Trick or Treats.” Bulma laughed. “Most grownups don't, either, unless they're with their kids.”

Vegeta pooched his lower lip out in mock-disappointment. “Shame. This sounds like a grand way to amass a great deal of candy. I suppose this will have to suffice.” He smirked at his woman and waggled the 3 Musketeers bar he stole from Panchy's overflowing candy bowl.

“Your sweet tooth amazes me,” Bulma said. Smiling herself, she took the candy from her lover, and opened the wrapper. She broke off a piece, and fed it to him. “So you're willing to steal candy from babies?”

“Yes,” said Vegeta, through a mouthful of nougat. One corner of his mouth raised. “Honestly, Bulma. I though you knew me better than that.”

“I'm getting there,” she replied. She took a bite of his candy and motioned with the half-eaten bar at the front door. “I'm about to take the baby out for his first Trick or Treating, myself.” She raised her shoulders in excitement, and Vegeta couldn't help but stretch his lips in response. Bulma placed her palm on his chest. “Want to come?”

Vegeta frowned suddenly. Did she really have to parade him around the city? Perhaps it was to show off to the neighbors the prize she had so handily won? Not very bloody likely. “No,” he said, and Bulma's face fell. Gods, he hated when she did that. It made him feel as bad as she _pretended_ to feel.

Before he got to the point where he acquiesced to her demands, just so he didn't have to see that face she was making any more, Panchy spread her hands in commiseration to the throng of children still at the door. “No more candy, kids! Take these!” said she, as 1000 zeni notes found their way into the remainder of the kids' goodie bags.

After a cheeky 'Out Of Candy!' sign was hung on the front door, complete with cartoony spooky ghosts wearing happy faces, Panchy turned to her daughter and waved her hands at her. “Do your thing, Sweetie. Go have fun with the baby.” She glanced pointedly at Vegeta as she passed Bulma in the vestibule, patting her daughter's shoulder.

Bulma breezed past Vegeta to fetch Trunks. When she left the room, Panchy crossed her arms over her pumpkin-colored bosom and stared at Vegeta. He responded by opening his mouth, closing it with a snap, and repeating that process a few more times.

To diffuse the situation, Vegeta turned to look out the tiny windows in the door, and watched Bulma leave from their entrance to the house with Trunks in his stroller. Bulma wore the bright yellow hoodie he liked the most. It complemented her hair-color, and made her look lovely. She had dressed the kid in a damned strawberry costume, of all things. He was descended from royal warriors with noble blood...and the woman dressed him as a _strawberry_. It was embarrassing as hell, to be frank.

Trunks sat in his stroller, swinging his legs wildly, squealing at the top of his lungs. He waved his chubby arms for all it was worth, wearing a smile to rival the brightness of the sun itself. When Vegeta's two people got to the first closest neighbor's house, Bulma unstrapped the baby from his stroller. He toddled up the walk, empty hands outstretched, to the little old lady that lived there. She clapped her hands at Trunks, and the boy squealed again in sublime joy. Oh, the humiliation.

So if he was so disgraced by Trunks, why was Vegeta smiling at the boy?

The temperature dropped a few degrees as Panchy leveled an icy stare at his back. Vegeta nearly squirmed under her glare. After a very uncomfortable few seconds of that, he couldn't take it any longer and whirled on Panchy. _“What?”_ he finally said to Bulma's mother, bristling.

Panchy held a tiny Jack O' Lantern candy bucket out to the Saiya-jin warrior _._ She twinkled at Vegeta, and he cringed slightly. “Bulma forgot this. You ought to bring this to her, Sweetie.”

Anyone else witness to Panchy's twinkle would be charmed by her sweet, little-old-lady-in-terrific-shape beguilement. Vegeta knew better. He had lived with the savage woman long enough to see through the ruse. Her scintillation told _him_ a different story: _If you_ don't _bring this bucket to my grand-baby and to_ her _, there's gonna be Hell to pay. Now_ hop _...Sweetie._

“Y...yessum,” he said, meek as a mouse. He took the treat bucket from the older woman and turned on his heel. As he exited the room, he glanced over his shoulder at Panchy. She waggled her fingers at Vegeta, who then beat a very hasty retreat.

3

“Oh, look at the baby!” The woman said. Bulma had, for the past twenty-five or so years, simply called the woman Gigi. She barely called the woman by her actual name, and of course her folks had prodded Bulma to be respectful, but Gigi insisted upon the endearment.

“Aaa!” said Trunks, as he wobbled to Gigi.

“Good job, Trunks!” she said, cheering the toddler on. She held her hands out to the baby. “You can do it!”

As the baby finally made it up the walk and clung to the grandmotherly woman's pant leg, Bulma spread her hands and approached her. “Hey Gigi, you're no spring chicken,” she said. “Don't hurt yourself picking him up.”

“Please. I know better.” The woman waved her hand at Bulma. She bent down slightly and took Trunks' hands. The baby cooed for Gigi, bouncing on his feet, while she gave Bulma a look. “So...how is your husband?”

“He's not my...” She bit her tongue. Why complicate things with the neighbors? They've seen Vegeta around for years, and now they've had a baby together. Gigi wasn't stupid, and Vegeta _was_ Bulma's mate anyway. Close enough for government work. “He's well enough, I guess,” she replied, making a sour face of her own. “Why do you ask?”

Gigi hooked her chin at a spot over Bulma's shoulder. She had an idea who stood behind her, most likely looking a little bit hangdog after going head to head with her mother. She smiled, then quashed it before she spun slowly on her toes to behold her man. “Hello,” she said.

“You forgot this.” said Vegeta. He held the candy bucket out to his mate with a scowl. Bulma took the bucket with faint thanks. His hand brushed hers, and it felt like an electric shock. “Do you...” He crossed his arms and drummed his fingers against his biceps. “Do you mind if I walked with you, Bulma?”

Bulma smirked indistinctly, glancing over at their house, before nodding at Vegeta. “I don't mind at all. Did you want to hold the baby's hand? He's still a little shaky on his feet, and I don't want him getting away from us and wandering into traffic.” When Vegeta's mouth pinched, Bulma ran her fingers through her hair in exasperation. _“Please?”_ she added. Her head had begun to pound. _Great._

Respiring with a gust, he concurred. “All right, Bulma. All right.”

“See you three some other time,” said Gigi. She patted an unnerved Bulma's hand and, after popping a little candy bar in Trunks' bucket, she returned to her house.

Shocked at the use of her given name in public (and in front of someone that wasn't a close friend or relation), Bulma was struck mute. Vegeta gently pushed past her and approached Trunks. He held his hand out to the baby. “Want to Trick or Treat with Mama, Trunks?”

The baby regarded his father solemnly...then shook his head in negation. “Papa,” said Trunks.

Vegeta's jaw dropped open. He blinked at his son, struck as dumb as Bulma had been moments before. Trunks beamed at his Papa, flashing all four of his teeth. He hugged himself and skipped on his toes, then held his hands out for Vegeta to pick him up. He did so.

In Papa's arms, Trunks plonked his head on Vegeta's shoulder. He looked up at Papa expectantly. Vegeta turned his head to regard Bulma. He ran his tongue out and licked his lips in a fretful manner. “Has he ever done this before?”

“No,” said Bulma when she could find her voice. “That's the first time he's said anything besides babbled nonsense.” Her countenance brightened. “Guess he likes you a lot more than you think.”

Vegeta bestowed Bulma with a rare, genuine smile. He peered down at Trunks, and felt a moment's anxiousness with his little boy. He quashed it, resolute, and held the baby at eye-height.“Trunks...can you say that for me again?”

The baby reached out and wound his fingers in Vegeta's hair, and gave him a rascally smirk...so much like the one Vegeta saw in the mirror every morning. “Papa,” he whispered.

At a loss for words, Vegeta tightened his hold on Trunks and hugged him close.

It was the last time he hugged his son for over seven years.

4

“I'm not going to go very far with Trunks,” said Bulma to her beloved as they walked down the street after leaving Gigi's house. Bulma pushed Trunks' stroller, Vegeta leading the friendly neighborhood strawberry by his hand. “He doesn't need a whole lot of candy, and going to a hundred houses is only gonna overstimulate him and make him cranky-tired.”

“Mm-hmm,” Vegeta said. He understood the sentiment. The walk wasn't tiring at all for him, personally; it was being out in public that was exhausting. He felt like finding a darkened room somewhere in Capsule Corp. and curling into a ball to sleep for a week, every time he was forced to deal with people on the outside.

They arrived at the next neighbor's house; Vegeta released Trunks' hand so he could charm his way into a free lollipop or chocolate bar. Bulma and Vegeta stood at the foot of the walk, watching Trunks wave hello at their neighbor. Bulma reached out to Vegeta and hooked her pointer finger around his. He responded by pulling his hand out of her grasp. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of the ancient motorcycle jacket he wore. His zippers jingled, cutting the silence that had deepened uncomfortably between the two.

After a few moments, he addressed his shoes. “I'm sorry I'm not the mate you wanted, Bulma.”

Trunks toddled back down the little foot-path, waving a lolly triumphantly. He shook the treat for Papa. Papa's mouth quirked on one side; he knelt down and took the lollipop to deposit in Trunks' Jack O' Lantern bucket. As he did so, Vegeta side-eyed Bulma to gauge her reaction to what he had just told her. She remained silent, to the point that Vegeta had become uneasy.

Bulma began wheeling the stroller to the next house. Vegeta scooped up Trunks and trotted after her. She slowed down so her boys could catch up. When Vegeta closed in, he put Trunks down and took his hand. As the small family walked, they shared a moment of quiet.

This is what Vegeta cherished the most about the woman he chose to be with: it didn't happen as often as he would have liked, but sometimes when the mood struck Bulma, she and he could be together and enjoy each other's company without filling the silence between them with empty words. Sometimes it was at the park as she read her favorite bodice-ripper and he lay in the grass beside her, whilst the sun warmed his upturned face; sometimes it was when they walked down their street during the magic hour of twilight, as the cicadas chirped and he struggled with the scandalous notion of taking her hand in public; sometimes it was when they lay in bed after making love, their arms and legs tangled together, his sweat drying on her skin, scent-marking her as his own; or maybe sometimes when they spent an evening with each other and a cup of sweetened coffee as one of her vinyl records filled their den with music.

Music was one of those things he loved about _Chikkyu_. The music here was savage, and raw, and so very beautiful. It reminded him of the one thing he loved the _very_ most about _Chikkyu_. He usually kept mum about it, but when he heard the now-familiar pops and scratches of one of Bulma's many, many LPs, Vegeta's stomach did a weird fluttery loop-the-loop. He looked forward to listening to Ziggy Stardust's strange, sad story over and over again; or the endless chiming after By-Tor and the Snow Dog's tale was told; or especially the thumping, sultry song of Kashmir that beat in time with his heart.

Maybe...maybe tonight, as their boy slept off his exercise and excitement, Vegeta would lead his woman into their bedroom for love. Maybe, he'd pick a record that called to his body's tempo. He'd play it quietly on the new turntable in their quarters, the music would light him afire, and his body would answer to the beat and bump in time.

Bulma glanced at Vegeta as they walked. “You _are_ , you know.”

Jolted out of his reverie, he shook himself like a dog would shake off fleas. “What am I, now?”

A soft flush bloomed in her cheeks. “The man I've always wanted.” She gazed at the stroller before her as they stopped at the last house on their side of the block. As Vegeta released his son to the neighbor's front door, he and Bulma beheld each other in silence for a few glorious moments. Bulma gathered her testicular fortitude and continued. “I didn't realize you were what I was looking for until I found you.”

He stared at Bulma, astonished. She swallowed hard, and continued. “I consider you my mate too, Vegeta. If I have to wait forever for you to be ready to marry me, then I'll wait. I think you're worth it. You're here with us, and for me that's enough.” _For now,_ the unspoken words were said in her head.

He bowed his head in assent. “I...thank you for that.”

Once more, the baby toddled back to his parents with a tasty treat. He squinted his eyes and yawned, his mouth agape. He approached Vegeta and rubbed his face against the leg of his father's jeans. Bulma spread her hands as Vegeta dropped the baby's candy in his bucket. “So much for Trick or Treating the entire street.” She brought her hands to just above her eyes and pressed on her forehead with a wince. “Good thing too. I'm hurtin' for certain.”

Vegeta bundled the baby into his stroller, to which Trunks gave no argument. He yawned again, rubbing his nose. When he was pleased with Trunks' safety straps, and as the baby fell asleep, Vegeta gently pressed one of his hands into the small of Bulma's back and brought his mouth to the cup of her ear. “Has the medicine arrived yet?”

Charmed by Vegeta's sudden rough affection, Bulma murmured the affirmative. “Mmm. I received the medication delivery the other day.”

“Good.” He maneuvered Bulma to the helm of the stroller, and stepped lightly behind her. “You will take it as soon as we get home. Your mother promised to mind Trunks when you first took this medicine so I could take care of you unencumbered; I'm going to ensure she makes good on that.”

Bulma almost laughed out loud. He really _was_ still stinging after Panchy let him have it. “All right, Vegeta. I guess I'm lucky today is your off-day from the gravity chamber.”

He placed his hands on her hips and gave her a gentle push. “Let's go home. How long until the medicine begins to take effect?”

Wanting to get home as soon as humanly possible, Bulma allowed Vegeta to direct her. Her sight had gotten somewhat fuzzy, anyway. “An hour, maybe two. I think I need to eat something beforehand. It'll help pad my stomach so I don't get physically ill or...you know, intoxicated.”

“Fine. I'll feed you, too.”

She really _did_ laugh aloud, then. “You aren't a very good cook, Vegeta. I can have Mama cook us all something...”

“Absolutely _not_.” As they prepared to cross the street, Vegeta looked down at Bulma's feet and made a slight noise of aggravation. She had donned her favorite walking shoes, and they seemed to give her three feet of lift. He stood on tiptoe to check over Bulma's shoulder if there were any cars coming. “I'll make ramen. You like ramen, no?”

“Yes.” She glanced at Vegeta, smirking through her haze. “Would you like to sit on my shoulders, _Ouji_?”

Bulma felt rather than saw Vegeta's grin on the back of her neck. “Go to Hell,” he said amiably. “Is the baby asleep?”

“Oh, he's out cold,” she replied. “Perfect timing. Trunks naps around this time.”

“Good.” Vegeta gifted Bulma with a rare snort of laughter. “Let your mother deal with Trunks waking up disoriented.”

They made it to their driveway, and as they ambled up the walk, Bulma stopped and turned to her mate. “She means well, Vegeta. Cut it out.”

He sucked at his teeth in annoyance. “ _Tch_. Fine. I'll play nice with your mother. Let's get you and the baby both inside.”

5

After Panchy and Brief cheerfully took Trunks off their hands for the rest of the day – and after Panchy gave Vegeta a genuine smile that made him feel somewhat uncomfortable – they sat themselves at the tiny breakfast nook at the far end of the kitchens. Vegeta poured water from the kettle into Bulma's ramen bowl. As the ramen steeped, Vegeta tapped Bulma's hand. “Do you have the lock-bag?”

She motioned to the zippered, sealed bag that sat on the Lazy Susan on the counter.

“Are they properly dosed?” He unlocked the bag and pulled out a baggie full of individually wrapped pieces of chocolate. When she nodded to her mate, he plucked one square from the bag and dropped it in her waiting palm. Should you eat it now, or wait for the ramen?”

She placed it next to her bowl. “I'll wait.” The ramen timer went off, and Bulma reached for the noodle bucket. She ate the ramen with gusto. Even in agony, she would eat ramen. Hell, she'd endure death itself if it meant she got to eat ramen forever. She hoped Heaven was well-stocked.

When she made the ramen disappear, Bulma unwrapped the choco and let it melt in her mouth. She sighed when she thought of the coming relief. She glanced thoughtfully at Vegeta while the chocolate dissolved. She dug a piece of chocolate out of the lock-bag. “Eat this,” said Bulma, holding another small piece of chocolate out to her mate.

Vegeta looked at the proffered confection, and raised an eyebrow at the woman. “Why? Isn't that your medicine? I won't take it from you if you depend on it for relief.” He wrinkled his nose at the confection. “What's in it, anyway?”

“Iocaine powder. I've grown tired of your companionship,” Bulma replied. She clucked at Vegeta in exasperation. “Moron. It's just the medicine in a chocolate base. What does it look like?”

He smiled wolfishly. “Poison. It smells like it, at any rate.” He stroked her outstretched hand, then opened his mouth for Bulma. Smiling, she dropped the tiny square on his tongue. He waggled his eyebrows at her before he closed his mouth and sucked at the chocolate thoughtfully. “You know, Bulma...you can always _ask_ me if I want to partake with you. You don't have to hide anything from me.”

“I _don't_ hide anything from you,” Bulma said, laughing. “Ask me anything, and I'll answer you honestly.”

“Fine.” He made a disgusted face. “What the hell _is_ the medicine made from? Grass clippings?”

Bulma broke open another square. She glanced up at Vegeta, making a noise of incredulity. “There isn't a single particle in this candy, Dopey. What are you talking about?”

“It sure as hell _tastes_ like grass clippings.” Vegeta made a revolted face. “And this takes pain away? You'd have to get past the way this crap tastes.” He shook himself, running his tongue out in disgust.

 _To each his own, then._ Bulma ran her fingers through her hair and stood shakily. Vegeta followed suit, holding her elbow to balance her. “All right. I usually take a nap with Trunks around this time if I'm not at work. I'm gonna take a page from my own book and sleep until this kicks in. Want to keep me company, maybe be my cuddle-buddy?” She approached her mate and pressed her forehead against his.

“I might, later. It's nearing lunchtime. I'd like to eat first,” said Vegeta. He rubbed Bulma's forearms briskly. “Sleep. I'll check in on you in a while.”

6

Sleep never felt so good.

For the past two hours, Bulma slept the sleep of the just, and when she woke, it seemed the pain that had bothered her all morning had just...petered out. She sat up on their deep, comfortable bed, and stretched.

Bulma glanced up at their bedroom doorway, and started when she realized Vegeta there. After composing herself, she glanced at Vegeta again and bit back hard on her laughter. Vegeta was rocking back and forth on unsteady feet, hugging his own chest and humming to himself. She leapt from the bed to address this new brand of nonsense. When he noticed Bulma approach him, Vegeta's countenance brightened. “Hi,” he said, dimpling.

Bulma canted her head to one side, quirking her eyebrows. “I see that. Hi yourself, _Ouji_.”

He took a deep breath, and tilted his head at her. His eyes twinkled at Bulma, and she wondered if it might be in her best interest if she kept Vegeta in this state all the time. He unfolded his arms and took one of her hands in both of his. “Feeling better?” he asked.

Grinning, silent for a full beat, Bulma expressed humored exasperation by shaking her head. “I'm all right, but...not as good as you, evidently. How are _you_ feeling?”

He wrinkled his brow, trying to focus his eyes. He gave up and gazed myopically at Bulma. Vegeta rubbed at the corner of his mouth with one finger. “I feel... _odd_.”

“I'll bet,” she said. “You went back for seconds, didn't you?”

“I'm sorry,” he said, looking quite sorry, indeed. “Please don't be cross with me.”

She reached out and cradled his cheek, stroking his lips with her thumb. He shivered suddenly. Bulma snorted when his eyes widened. Vegeta's mouth twitched in surprise. “It tingles,” he said. “ _Everything_ tingles.” His mouth stretched into a broad grin. “Do it again.”

Bulma shook her head in disbelief. “Good Gods, Vegeta. How much more did you have?”

Vegeta simpered at his mate. “Erm...all of it?”

“You...” Bulma blinked at her man. She stared off into space for a moment, disbelievingly. Her jaw unhinged. _“You ate nineteen doses?”_

“I guess I did.” He scratched at his head fretfully. “I got hungry after a while, and it looked good.” His face fell suddenly. “I...I'm not going to die, or anything...am I?”

Hands outstretched, Bulma approached Vegeta and stroked his hair. He allowed her to do so, and further allowed her to slide her arms around his waist so as to draw him close. “You're not going to die.”

Vegeta suddenly turned an interesting shade of green. “ _Hurk_. Perhaps...I need to lie down.” He licked his lips, and Bulma felt very sorry for Vegeta. She had never seen him look this miserable. He planted his face in the valley between her shoulder and throat. Bulma could feel the rivers of sweat running from him; she could feel his shakes. “Can you stay with me for a little bit? Until this is over?”

 _You've got to be kidding,_ Bulma thought to herself. _You've eaten so much, you're not coming down from_ this _high until the day after tomorrow, dear_ _._ She smiled at Vegeta, and kept her thoughts to herself. She led him to the master bath, knowing full well what was about to erupt from him.“Of course I will. Until it's all over.”

7

“ _Oh, my love. Bulma. Oh, Bulma. Bulma.”_

Oh, Gods...what a nice dream Bulma was having. It was a much nicer time than what she had to endure this afternoon, as she nursed Vegeta through what she knew was fairly high on his list of 'Crap I Never Want To Do Ever _Ever EVER_ Again'. She wanted to turn over in bed and stroke his hair, but she also didn't want to wake him if he had managed to drop into a fitful doze. If she startled him awake, he might puke all over the bed – and her – again, and she was done changing the sheets _and_ her clothes after the second time.

Her dream was all about a time when Vegeta would wake her in the wee hours of early morning. He loved having sex early. They'd make sleepy love bathed in the heady red and gold light streaming into their bedroom windows, just as the sun rose. It was then that his true colors arose. He was haughty and arrogant around everyone else, but Bulma was the first to see the uncertainty behind Vegeta's actions – in the way he reached for her when she approached him, in the way he trembled in her arms, in the way he tilted his gaze upward to meet hers and begged for her love with his eyes.

In her dream, Bulma was woken by her lover like in the beginning, his fingers tracing gentle, fiery lines up and down her forearm as he planted fluttery kisses along the curve of her shoulder. Dream-Vegeta reached around her hip to play with her cunt until she tensed and grunted into her pillow, then slowly slipped into her from behind. Bulma hooked one leg over his hip and rocked with him until their lovemaking had reached a fever-pitch. His dream-self panted her name in her ear until he came, his hips surging forward whilst in the throes of his own little death.

She liked it when he gasped with desire, when he pressed his body against hers in his ecstasy.

She liked it so much more when he watched them fuck in the reflection of the closet door mirrors.

She had mirrors installed on the closet doors on both sides of the bedroom. When Vegeta was feeling a little frisky, she made sure the closet doors were shut, and the lamps were illuminated on their bed-stands so he could peer at her over her shoulder. Maybe, if he was feeling a little extra amorous, he'd trail kisses from her throat to her elbow and back, before he lost himself to his climax.

Bulma opened her eyes; waking up at this point was an inevitability. She sighed, saying good-bye to her lovely dream, and peered into the gloom of early-morning. Raising her eyes to examine the mirror across from her side of the bed, she saw Vegeta peeping over her shoulder. He quirked his eyebrows at Bulma, and Bulma felt his smile on the skin between her shoulder blades. “Morning,” he said.

“Morning,” she replied. “I'm surprised you're still not that lovely shade of chartreuse.”

Vegeta wound his arms around Bulma's waist. He chuckled into her back. “I'm better, now. Saiya-jin metabolism, I guess. I really don't want to know how much of your medicine I managed to ingest.”

“ _All_ of it, you dumb-ass.” Bulma wiggled her butt against Vegeta's lower belly, and realized with a start that neither of them had any clothes on. “Um...when did we get naked?”

He glanced at her reflection in the closet door, blinking in amused amazement. “When we had sex this morning.”

“Oh.” Bulma chuffed laughter. “I thought I had dreamt that.”

“Hmph. I'd love to know how _anyone_ could sleep through what I did to you.” He kissed the smooth skin on her back, gently. “You're a trouper.”

“You too.” Bulma pursed her lips at Vegeta's reflection. “You ever doing that again, love?”

He blenched. “What, eat two weeks worth of pain medication in one go? Uh-huh. That's a nope.”

She smiled at her man, and he flashed one back. “Never a dull moment, is it?” said she.

Vegeta shook his head slowly in negation. “And you wouldn't have it any other way.”

She suddenly tinkled silvery laughter at Vegeta. “Want to know something? You're right. You're exactly what I expected of you.”

He looped his arm over her hip, and stared at her in the mirror. “What do you mean?”

“I wished for you.”

Vegeta's considerable eyebrows drew together in a fretful expression, as he drew away from Bulma's back. “ _Please_ tell me you mean that in a figurative sense.”

“No, in a literal sense.” When she beheld Vegeta's horrified countenance, she waved her hand. “Relax. Shenron wouldn't put someone in a situation they didn't want to be in. It always took the person's desires into consideration, so making some unsuspecting sap beholden to another against his will is something it'd never do.” She gestured with her hands, flicking her fingers. “Besides, I never heard of you until you came to _Chikkyu_. I wouldn't be able to wish for you by name, anyway.”

Mollified, Vegeta motioned for her to continue. Despite having some _serious_ misgivings about her wish, he was always riveted by Bulma's stories.

“I wanted to wish for a boyfriend when Son-kun and I first went adventuring, but the wish was stolen from me.” Vegeta made an unconscious, sour _moue_ when he heard Goku's name. “After Oolong saved the day and wished for a pair of women's panties...”

“The pig?” Vegeta gazed into space. “Panties. What a weirdo.”

“No argument here. After he wasted the wish, I had to wait until Ma Junior had finally been stopped. I went searching for the Dragon Balls again on my own, and finally got to make my own wish.” Bulma plucked Vegeta's hand from her hip, and brought it to her mouth. She kissed it.

Vegeta breathed laughter into her hair. “For your perfect boyfriend?”

Bulma smiled faintly. “Over the years, my wish changed somewhat. When I summoned Shenron, I wished for my destined life-mate to come and sweep me off my feet.” She blew a gentle laugh, stroking his bicep with the flat of her palm. “I asked Shenron if he could be handsome, and royal, maybe a Prince...and a good man.”

“Maybe he took a wrong turn on his way to _Chikkyu_ ,” said Vegeta. “He hasn't shown up yet.”

She rolled atop Vegeta, propped on her forearms. She brought her face close to his, their noses touching.“You are a good man. You _are_.”

“I'm glad you think so, Bulma.” Vegeta's countenance hardened. “Because I _know_ I'm not.”

The sun began its ascent, limning her curves and his sinew with broad swatches of red and purple and gold. Vegeta gazed up at his _onna_ , and chided himself for falling for this woman, and her alien planet, and her...no, _their_ son. He berated himself for wanting this woman as much as he did, as he pressed her onto her back and spread her legs. He upbraided himself soundly for going soft as he lowered his lips to Bulma's and slid his tongue into her willing mouth. He nestled himself at the fore, then locked gazes with her. “Bulma?” he said, begging permission from her.

She grinned, and said something guaranteed to get a laugh out of him. Gods, Bulma loved to hear him laugh. She wished he'd do it more often. “Vegeta, there's a penis between us.”

He snorted, smirking, and accepted the invitation. When he slipped himself into his lover and tottered on the edge for one delicious moment, he felt an odd mingling of disgust for himself and longing for something more – much, _much_ more – from Bulma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. I'm kind of an old-school girl, and proud of it. None of that Dragon Ball Super nonsense for me, where Vegeta gets a late-in-life growth spurt and grows something like a head taller than Bulma. It's a part of his initial character's make-up that he's a tiny, angry little monkey. He's shorter than Bulma until Toyo/Tori/Toei can come up with an explanation for his sudden height that makes sense. 'Nuff said.
> 
> Also, yes. Those are CBD/THC edibles Bulma has to give her pain relief from migraines. Also-also, very yes. Vegeta got the freaking munchies after eating one piece, realized there was the equivalent of two full-sized candy bars right in front of him, and greened out when he helped himself to Bulma's entire stash, which roughly amounted to 200mg of THC. Yes, it's a whole lot at once for someone who has never touched it before. Silly monkey.
> 
> There is a lot of graphic sex in this story so far. Criminy. I hope it's not too off-putting.
> 
> You saw it correctly, if you caught it. There is a Princess Bride reference tucked in here somewhere.
> 
> So yeah. Vegeta and Bulma evidently are huge fans of progressive rock. Impeccable taste, that.
> 
> Enough rambling from me. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Later.


	4. Starman

_Maybe I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time_

_Maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you_

_Maybe I'm amazed at the way you pull me out of time_

_You hung me on the line_

_Maybe I'm amazed at the way I really need you._

_Maybe I'm a man_

_Maybe I'm a lonely man who's in the middle of something_

_That he doesn't really understand_

_Maybe I'm a man_

_And maybe you're the only woman who could ever help me_

_Baby, won't you help me to understand?_

_Paul McCartney - Maybe I'm Amazed_

1

In the few months between Hallowe'en and Yule, Vegeta began training Trunks. Once the baby mastered walking, he began the boy on a series of balance and strength exercises at 1.2 G. The baby loved his hour with Papa three times a week. He babbled at Papa and hugged Papa's leg whenever he got the chance. Trunks pulled himself off the ground by Papa's outstretched hands, wiggling his feet an inch or so off the floor. Once a session, usually after a tickle fight (that his Papa would almost always 'lose'), Trunks would lie on the floor and, guided by Papa, would pull himself to a sitting position; from there he'd tuck his knees and roll to his feet. They would reverse the exercise until Trunks was flat on the floor again. Vegeta considered this 'training'. Trunks and Bulma considered it 'playing'.

Sometimes Vegeta would look at the small window by the door and pretend Bulma wasn't there watching them, with her chin propped up by her hands. He found that he didn't mind her presence all _that_ much, but he had to keep up appearances and all that. He'd steadfastly ignore the window most of the time, but every once in a while he'd find himself looking at it, hoping he'd catch a glimpse of Bulma and lock eyes with her. It always got a thrill out of her, and he'd love it when she would start in surprise and hug herself when he smiled in her direction.

It was on one of those days where Trunks had his hour with Papa, when Bulma got a phone call from her doctor. She was kind, the family's general practitioner, and soft-spoken.

"Good morning, Miss Bulma," said Doctor Katsumi.

"Morning, Doc!" She poured herself a cup of coffee and walked to her living room. She sat in her favorite easy chair.

“How are you feeling today, Miss Bulma?” Katsumi riffled some papers on her desk, and continued. “Has the scrip worked to curb migraine pain?”

“It did,” said Bulma. She stopped for a split second. How would she explain the loss of almost twenty doses without implicating her lover as a potential non-human that could ingest that much in one sitting without ending up in the hospital, after puking his guts out for three days? “I haven't taken a single dose since the first one. I brought the bag with me into the car, and I melted all of them into soup.” She laughed, and it sounded genuine to her ears. “I haven't replaced them yet. I haven't had any symptoms since that day anyway.”

The doctor joined her laughter. “Ouch. Well, it's for the best.”

There was no reason for Bulma to be concerned with Katsumi's statement. Nonetheless, Bulma became a little chilled. “I...don't understand.”

“I finished analyzing yesterday's blood tests and I found something unexpected.”

The bottom dropped out of Bulma's stomach. “Unexpected.”

“Well,” Doctor Katsumi said, fetching a breath, “I'd rather not have you ingest anything that might put your fetus in danger.” She laughed again. “And here you thought there was no chance in hell that you were pregnant.” When her revelation brought nothing but silence from the other line, Katsumi said, “Mazel tov.”

“I'm pregnant again,” said Bulma finally.

“You're pregnant again. I'd like to schedule your preliminary appointment with Doctor Tora – he's Trunks' pediatrician also, yes? – and get you started on pre-natal supplements. Have you been smoking, Miss Bulma?”

Her heart squeezed in her chest. “Yes, but I had no idea!”

“All right, Miss Bulma,” said Katsumi, her voice soothing. “Moving forward, no more ciggy-butts until, at the very least, you're done nursing this one, okay? When did you start smoking again?”

Bulma's voice caught in her throat. “Just after I weaned Trunks...maybe three months ago.” _And here come the tears_ , she thought to herself, as the waterworks turned on.

Doctor Katsumi's voice was gentle. She gave Bulma a moment to compose herself, then: “We're going to make sure everything is all right, Miss Bulma. You can come see me anytime you like. Give me a call, and you and I can sit down to talk. I remember, just before Trunks was born, how difficult it was for you. Is it still the same?”

Gulping, Bulma made a sound of negation. “Uh-uh. Vegeta is...a changed man.” It wouldn't do at all to tell Doc Katsumi that Vegeta became a better person after his future son's heart was vaporized before his eyes, by an android built with, among many other things, Vegeta's own DNA. Bulma grinned through her tapering tears. She didn't think Doctor Katsumi would understand.

 _At all_.

“Good, good,” said Katsumi. “I'm glad to hear that. He struck me as a bit of a jerk.”

“You don't know the half of it,” said Bulma. After she bid the good Doctor a pleasant afternoon, she dialed the Son residence.

2

At dinner, Bulma was unnaturally quiet as she fed Trunks. The baby had double-fisted most of his dinner himself, but Bulma still liked being involved with Trunks' sup. Vegeta, normally thrilled for a little peace and quiet at supper, looked up from his mountain of pork buns and what measured up to an entire tureen of yakitori. He frowned at Bulma. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she replied in a distracted voice. She spooned sweet potato mash near her son's mouth, getting more on the kid than in him. Trunks, his jaw hanging open and covered in his favorite food, glanced over at Papa, blinking, with an expression of consummate surprise.

Vegeta's eyebrows shot up. “This looks like a lot more than 'nothing'. What is it?” He tossed his yakitori skewer back onto his plate, rose, and approached Bulma. He spun her gently in her chair and pushed his face into hers. “What _is_ it _?_ ”

“Nothing,” she repeated. She swallowed heavily. “If you're not busy tomorrow, I need you to do me a favor. I need to make a trip. Will you watch the baby for a few hours?”

He placed his palms against Bulma's cheeks. “No. I'm not letting you go _anywhere_ by yourself tomorrow. You look like someone close to you just dropped dead.”

Effortless tears brimmed in her lovely blue eyes. “You're not gonna want to go with me tomorrow if you knew where I was going.”

His mouth squeezed tightly. “Don't presume you know what I want!” He took her hand and stroked it in a calming, repetitive way. “I'll accompany you and the boy to wherever you are going, and that's final!” He shut his eyes wearily. “And where _are_ we going...because I have a funny feeling you just cozened me into something I'm _really_ not going to like.”

When Bulma, weeping openly, said “The Son House”, Vegeta simply knew it was what she had meant to say all along, but pressed his lips shut in a hurry. There was something else on her mind, and it weighed heavily. He had an idea what it was – in fact, he was fairly confident of this knowledge. He wasn't thrilled with it, either.

 _At_ _all_.

Still. Vegeta also knew how he felt about his mate. He and Bulma had become closer to each other over the past few months. Gods knew he wasn't the easiest person to live with. Bulma...not the easiest person to live with either...good grief, she tried. She tried so hard to help him understand how typical people acted on _Chikkyu_. Sometimes, she succeeded. When she did find a way to help Vegeta understand, his respect for her grew a bit more. When there was no more room for respect – something he never expected – something else began to grow haphazardly in its place. It was something he really didn't want to think about, and something he _really_ didn't have the testes to tell Bulma about. He was fairly certain she already knew, anyway.

“All right,” he said. “Wash your face. I'll attend to this one.” He released Bulma's hand and grabbed a fresh package of baby wipes from the kitchen counter. As Bulma rose to clean herself up, Vegeta pulled a few wipes from the package and swabbed sweet potato from Trunks' face.

As Trunks sat quietly and allowed his father to clean him up, Vegeta chuckled at his boy. “Your mother is an odd duck sometimes, isn't she?”

“Anh,” said Trunks. He opened his mouth and sucked on his fingers. “Papa, anh!”

Nodding, he reached for the kitchen table and grabbed one of two large jars of pudding perched there. Like all Saiya-jin babies – and the adults, too – Trunks had a voracious appetite. He popped one open that had what looked like some sort of tapioca concoction – that is, Vegeta _thought_ that was what it was. He shuddered and dipped Trunks' spoon into the concoction. One day soon Vegeta would be able to read what was on the label and know _what_ kind of pudding he was spooning into his kid.

It rankled fiercely that he was, for all intents and purposes, illiterate on this world. When he was a child, Freeza insisted he learn to read and write Intergalactic Common, if only so he could be less of a shambling savage and write his reports without the help of an aide. IC was nothing like the many spoken and written languages on Bulma's world. He tried reading Bulma's own language, and gave up after days of trying to understand even one of the dialects of her country.

Trunks watched Papa, as he nearly repeated what Mama did and make him wear his treat. “Papa!” Trunks grabbed Papa's hand and tried to guide the spoon to his waiting mouth. “Ahn, Papa!”

“Sorry, Trunks,” said Vegeta, shaking himself from his reverie. He dumped the (possibly) tapioca and some sort of rice pudding into his kid's mouth. Trunks hugged himself, obviously enjoying his dessert. “Good?” said Vegeta. Trunks nodded and opened wide for the next mouthful. He held a spoonful of tapioca out to his son and gazed at the nearly-empty jars next to him on the table. For all he knew, he had just fed Trunks glue.

“Papa!” Trunks pushed the spoon at Vegeta's face. He opened his mouth wide to show Papa what to do when the food got to his pie-hole, as if he had no idea how to eat.

Vegeta laughed at Trunks. “Good enough to share, huh?” His countenance took on a cheesy, revolted cast. “Ugh. If you insist.” Trunks put his little hands on Papa's and pushed the loaded spoon to Papa's now-open mouth. With one final moment to reflect on what a stupid idea it was to eat baby food, he realized the baby tapioca pudding really _did_ taste like glue to his own seasoned palate. It was utterly tasteless. He swallowed the swill and had to fight his gorge lest he puke on his son.

“Jesus wept,” he said, gagging, before he realized what he said and pulled a peeved face. _That_ one was part of Yamcha's lingo, and Vegeta was fairly disgusted with himself for using one of the moron's idioms.

Vegeta heard giggling from the doorway behind him. He turned, his eyebrows raised. “Go ahead. Laugh it up.”

Freshly showered, Bulma looked more like herself. She gave her beloved a genuine smile, further mollifying Vegeta. In her favorite terry robe, she wrapped her arms around her belly and cupped her elbows. “If you could help me put him down for the night, I might have something special for you when _you_ come to bed.”

“Does it involve guessing what you have on under that robe?” He reached out, and flicked the hem of the heavy pink garment. The corners of his mouth curled a bit. “What do I win if I get it right?”

Approaching her mate, Bulma fetched an ersatz world-weary sigh. She faced him, hands on hips. “Well, I think your prize would be whatever you find underneath this thing.” She ran her fingers through Vegeta's thick mane. He grunted with pleasure. “Will you take care of Trunks for me?”

“I suppose I could,” he said, placing his hands on Bulma's hips. He dipped his nose into her decolletage. “Don't fall asleep on me.” The smell of his mate drove him nearly mad most of the time; this time, there seemed to be something amiss – a note was missing from her natural _parfum._ It further cemented his assumption about his mate, and what was 'wrong'.

Snorting, she leaned on Vegeta's shoulders with her elbows. Bulma drew close to him, pressing her face close to his. “You wouldn't let that happen. The last time I dozed off on you, you practically hit me in the face with your dick to wake me up.”

As Vegeta was surprised into laughter, Trunks rubbed at his eyes and yawned. Vegeta inclined his chin at the baby, reaching out to Trunks to smooth his wispy hair from his forehead. “Let me take care of the brat, and then we'll go to bed.” Bulma raised her eyebrows archly. Vegeta turned an interesting plum color when she did. He breathed a small, sheepish laugh. “I mean we have a long trip to Mount Paozu tomorrow. Early to bed, early to rise.”

“Of course we do.” She grinned and walked out of the room to their bedroom. “See you in a little while.”

3

Early the next morning, Bulma bundled Vegeta and Baby Trunks into Capsule Vehicle 576 and took off for Mount Paozu. Nearly two and a half hours later, the family of three landed next to the Son House. Gyū-Maō's hover-vehicle was parked in front of the dome house. Vegeta pressed the button beside the driver's side door of 576 to collapse the ship into its Hoi-Poi capsule. He picked it up, pocketed it, and said to Bulma as he straightened, “If you plan on staying all freaking day, you can have this god-damned thing and I'll fly the hell home on my own power.” Long, slow trips made Vegeta's hair hurt, and he was in a foul mood.

“Fine,” said Bulma, a little peevish herself. She knew all too well what morning sickness felt like, and hers grandly waited until they got to the Son House before twisting her guts into knots. “I'm a little under the weather myself. I didn't plan on staying 'all freaking day', you know.”

“Fine.”

“ _Fine_!”

Fuming at each other as they approached the front door of the Son's house, Gyū-Maō exited, fumbling his keys. He glanced up from his gigantic key-fob, and twinkled at Bulma. “Why, hello there! Come visiting to see the baby?”

As Bulma nodded with a smile, a warbling shriek nearly shook the walls of the dome house. The Ox-King raised his palm to the front door and sighed. “Goten. He's a little...cranky. Give Chi-Chi an extra big hug when you go in. She needs it.” He poked his head into the still-open door. “Chi! You got company!”

“Okay, Dad. C'mon in, Bulma!” Chi-Chi's voice was thin, exhausted. “Don't stand on ceremony!” She walked into the hallway as the couple stepped through the door. “Thanks for comin', Bulma,” said Chi-Chi. The baby wailed in her arms. “Colic,” she said almost apologetically. “Under the circumstances, you might not want to stay more'n a few minutes.” She glanced over Bulma's shoulder and her smile evaporated. She gave Vegeta a guarded look. “Hello.”

He nodded. “I see you're well.”

Chi-Chi's eyes were as hard as agates. “As well as I c'n be, under the circumstances.” She glanced down at Goten again, as he straightened his legs out and opened his mouth wide to scream his head off.

The baby looked miserable. He shrieked and bawled and shrieked some more. Vegeta always had trouble with any noise he wasn't making himself, and Goten's upset had begun to put the Saiya-jin _Ouji's_ teeth on edge.

The women sat in two comfortable easy chairs with the babies in their laps, and began to talk shop: how the kids were doing, the giant fishes Gohan was bound to bring home later in the afternoon, Gohan's studies (and Chi-Chi's hopes that he would become a great scholar, even at the tender age of twelve), recipes they've collected over the past year, the latest fashions from Central City, and their favorite late evening serials on the tube.

As the minutes wound their way out, Vegeta found his fingers curling on the armrests of the simple wooden chair he had occupied. An uncontrollable twitch started in the corner of his mouth. After twenty minutes of listening to the baby shriek and the armrests squeal in protest under his squeezing fingers, he glanced at Chi-Chi. His eyebrows twitched into an involuntary frown. Every time Goten got tired of being – well, _tired_ – he'd open his face-hole and start screaming again. And every time Goten started up again, Chi-Chi's eyes would prickle with tears and she'd begin to shake uncontrollably.

Bulma turned her head and met her mate's eyes. She silently begged for Vegeta's help. _Son isn't here, love,_ she thought, and wished she could project thought into Vegeta's head. _Please help._ Her eyes said all that needed to be said. Vegeta got the gist.

“ _Tch._ ” Colic wasn't something Bulma was a stranger to, but Vegeta had no experience with a colicky newborn. He was, however, the father to a Saiya-jin halfling brat, and as babies Saiya-jin were tornadoes in a bottle. He stood, and walked to where Chi-Chi sat, trembling, with the baby in her arms. He held his hands out for Goten. “Give him to me.”

“No thank you,” said Chi-Chi with a dignified sniff. “I'm a good mama. I don't need help raisin' this boy...”

“You can be the _perfect_ mother, and still be pushed to put your child through a wall,” said Vegeta. He repeated, “Give him to me. I can help.”

Chi-Chi gave Vegeta an incredulous, withering glare. “How are _you_ supposed to help?”

He shrugged, and sassed her right back. “Your voice isn't deep enough. It won't work if _you_ try this.” He raised one shoulder. “I don't care if you don't want to. Enjoy this brat's colic, then. From what I heard, colic can last for months.” He jerked his chin at Trunks. “ _His_ did.”

Chi-Chi's mouth pinched. She glanced at Bulma, who merely shrugged. After a moment to mull it over, Chi-Chi inclined her head and handed over her son. Vegeta received the brat, nodding once to Chi-Chi.

Gently rubbing the baby's back, Vegeta pressed Goten into his shoulder. A low rumbling hum emanated from his chest. He started to walk from one end of the room to the other, gently swinging his body. The _Ouji's_ chest stopped growling as he began to make a shushing noise through pursed lips.

Quiet descended upon the room for a blessed few seconds as the baby's mouth dropped open in surprise, before Goten began caterwauling again. Vegeta sucked at his teeth in irritation. “Stubborn one, aren't you?” he said to the child.

His lopsided gait and the susurrus of air across Goten's ear, alternating with the deep droning sound coming from his torso, finally had its desired effect on the baby. Goten rubbed his face against Vegeta's neck. The little one howled once more, then snuffled again against the warmth of Vegeta's skin before finally settling down enough to drop into an exhausted swoon.

Chi-Chi heaved a gusting sigh of relief. After a few moments of blessed silence, her eyelids dropped shut. Vegeta let her get her forty winks, and walked with the newborn to ensure the baby got rest too. After a moment, Bulma rose from her chair, and with Trunks in tow, followed Vegeta out of the room.

4

 _Could_ he?

Could Vegeta mend past mistakes he had made with his first child, and put his terrible, exhilarating past behind him and settle down? Was he ready for this? Did he _want_ to settle down?

In the vestibule, Vegeta paced the hallway, keeping the colicky baby quiet and cursing Bulma to Hell and back under his breath. He stopped pacing, rocking back and forth in place. Goten was finally and truly conked out; he slept against Vegeta's shoulder, his tiny hand in his mouth.

“Damn it all,” said Vegeta. “Why did I let the woman talk me into this?” He shifted Goten's tiny body into the valley between his shoulder and neck. “I should have stayed home.”

“So why _did_ you come, then?” He looked up suddenly; Bulma had rounded the corner into the vestibule and leaned against the door-frame. Her lower lip pooched out. “Why, then?”

“Because,” he replied, “you had something to tell me, and I was willing to listen.” Vegeta gave Bulma a sere look. “You didn't have to, either. I already know.”

Her free hand stole to her tummy. “You do? _How_?”

His eyebrows shot up. “You've quit smoking. Your smell is missing the tobacco note I've grown accustomed to. Your breasts have become full, and you have a flush about your face that's...” He stopped. The tips of his ears turned very pink, and he grinned in an uncharacteristically gentle way. “Over the past few months, you've become...pleasant to look at.” The gentle smile became savage. “Also, your belly has begun to grow very round.”

Bulma's empty hand curled around her midsection. “It has _not_!” she said, in a hissing whisper.

“It _has_ ,” said Vegeta, a teasing note in his voice. “Your belly has been presenting itself for almost a month.”

Goten made an indescribable sound between them, and settled down. They looked at the newborn, then glanced at each other. Bulma held his gaze, her own heart in her eyes. “There's no getting around it. Are you all right with...this?” She stroked her belly with her free hand.

For many moments, Vegeta pondered this seemingly simple question. _Was he?_ He moved closer to his mate, and held his free arm open for Bulma to step lightly into. Finally, he pressed his nose to his mate's cheek, and nodded.

“Do...do you want what you've given to me?” Bulma brought her free arm up and cupped Vegeta's elbow with one lovely alabaster hand. “Be truthful with me.”

 _Those are two different questions, my dear,_ he thought. _You're a clever one. I_ am _all right with this child being born...but_ is _this baby something that I really_ want _in my life?_

The answer was elementary, at least to Vegeta. “Yes,” he said after a moment. He pressed his forehead to Bulma's. “I do.”

Trunks leaned toward his Papa, and slung an arm around Goten's shoulders. Between Trunks' parents, the babies slept on, not conscious of _Ouji-sama_ tenderly nuzzling his mate's cheek over their downy heads.

5

Perhaps a half-hour later, Chi-Chi awoke to a quiet house. Panicked, she jumped from her easy-chair and cast about for Goten. She sprinted into the hallway, only to find (of all people) Vegeta rocking her sleeping Goten. Bulma stood facing her man, a sleeping Trunks between them. They cocooned the boys with their bodies, and rocked together to placate Goten-kun and keep him asleep, and Chi-Chi understood why Bulma asked if she had plans today.

Dumbstruck, Chi-Chi blinked at the Saiya-jin warrior who – until very recently, it seemed – was evil incarnate. Here he was, rocking on his feet and stroking his wife's hair while he pressed his face to hers and all at once Chi-Chi knew they were pregnant.

To be honest, Chi-Chi was glad Vegeta was becoming more domesticated. The stronger he got, the more of a danger he became to _Chikkyu_. She had no qualms about Goku becoming stronger. He didn't have a mean bone in his body. Vegeta, though...

As if sensing her presence in the hallway, Vegeta and Bulma glanced up simultaneously. While Vegeta turned crimson and took a large, wobbling step away from Bulma, his mate granted Chi-Chi an amiable smile. “You look so much better,” said Bulma.

Chi-Chi nodded with a small, wan smile. “I'm feelin' _lots_ better. Guess I needed the sleep.”

An odd feeling of pity squeezed Vegeta's guts. He said the one thing that he was certain would mollify Kakarotto's wife. “I'm sure Kakarotto did this for your big one,” said Vegeta to Chi-Chi. _As stupid as he was,_ he finished in his head. “That is, after he grabbed the baby by the tail and hung him upside-down until the baby stopped crying."

Nodding slowly, reminiscing and smiling at the mental image of her husband with Baby Gohan's tail in his fist, she agreed. “Goku-sa _did_ do both them things for Gohan when he was little,” she said. She ran her fingers through her long, loosened hair. “I remember nearly killin' him when he first did that to Gohan. My big one was almost as bad as Goten with the colic. After I told him to lay off the baby's tail, Goku-sa would walk with him so I could get a few hours of sleep. I wish he was here for this little one too.”

 _Moue_ firmly in place, Vegeta stroked the baby's back without looking up at Chi-Chi. “He _should_ have been.”

“Vegeta,” said Bulma, a warning note in her voice. “ _Don't_.”

Chi-Chi crossed the hallway to where Vegeta stood with her infant in his arms. She held her hands out for Goten, whom Vegeta handed back to his mother without a word of protest.

He would not meet her gaze.

Chi-Chi glared at him through rheumy eyes sunken in pockets of bruised flesh. “I'm proud of what Goku-sa did for this world. You should be, too.”

“I never said I was...I never said I _wasn't_ , either,” he responded shortly. “I know he gave his life to save _Chikkyu_.” Pity crossed his face again, as he finally raised his eyes to meet hers. “But at what cost?”

She raised her chin with a modicum of pride. “My children can live in a world free from evil.”

He blinked. “For now.” Vegeta could protect the world if needed – he hoped – but if something truly powerful came along, and...he would never say it aloud, never in a million billion _trillion_ years.

Without that fool...

6

The months flew by, as they tend to do. Bulma's belly rounded further, and Vegeta thought she was the loveliest thing he had ever laid eyes on. Her countenance took on a rosy, glowing cast. Her breasts...gods above, she was round everywhere, and he never found anyone as alluring as he found his Bulma. Having said that, from when he found out, through the first month of her second trimester, he sexually avoided her.

Bulma felt deeply connected to her sexuality during her pregnancy, and sought out intimacy more often from Vegeta. For his part, he was terrified of harming his mate and their child during sex. When he did manage to finally make love to Bulma, he cradled her like an egg, frightened of what he could do to them.

There was also the uneasiness he had begun to feel, as the fetus grew and matured. Something felt...off. He had no idea what it was, but it was there, and he could not shake the uncomfortable feeling he got every time he touched Bulma's belly. So, as to keep Bulma from hurting herself or the child, he took care of the things that he'd normally let his mate do on a day to day basis.

In truth, Vegeta doted on Bulma, hand and foot – meaning he took a bit more care of Trunks, he taught himself how to be a slightly better cook, and he learned what a vacuum cleaner's function was and how to fold laundry.

He also didn't stop training himself or Trunks; rather, Vegeta stepped up his own training regimen to the point where he was panting and running rivers of sweat when he left the gravity room. He usually showered right before supper and passed out right after.

One afternoon, nearing the end of her third trimester, Bulma regarded herself critically in her closet mirror and wondered if her body was going to bounce back after this baby. She ran her fingers over a dry riverbed of stretch marks and sighed. Whether she would bounce back or not was irrelevant. These changes to Bulma's body were permanent, and to be fair, there was nothing she could do about it save asking Shenron to fix it.

She walked to the wall switch and snapped off the overhead lights as Vegeta walked into the room, still wet from his shower. He rumpled his hair with a towel before throwing the drying cloth on the bedspread, something that usually irritated the cheese out of Bulma. He flipped the overheads back on, and approached Bulma.

From behind, he slipped his arms around her mountainous belly and kissed the back of her neck. When he would not let go of her right away, Bulma turned her head slightly to regard Vegeta over her shoulder. “What's up?”

Silence for a few ticks, then: “I'm not sure. Give me a moment.” Spinning Bulma around to face him, Vegeta reached up and brushed her cheek with his fingertips. He tried to ignore the tightening in his throat and the feeling of apprehension in his chest. He glanced down at her belly. When he cupped the baby between his palms, he said, “I wish I knew what was up. I just have a feeling of...dread.” He did not look up from his hands. His eyebrows drew together slowly. “Maybe this is normal behavior for expecting parents, before the baby is born? Maybe I'm just being stupid.”

“Probably,” said Bulma, smiling. She drew her hands down Vegeta's washboard belly, and he gasped, shivering, when her fingertips tickled his Adonis belt. He leaned forward, an unsteady smile playing across his mouth, and kissed Bulma's collarbone.

How exactly could he explain this shaky feeling to Bulma? He reckoned it would be as easy as processing the emotions he felt when he was around her. Vegeta could not tell her out-right he was in love with her, oh _hell_ no. He still considered his mate and child – _children_ – to be a hindrance, as much as he cared for them. In the off-chance someone or something threatened his family while he was in the throes of battle, would he stop what he was doing and come to their aid, or would he continue to fight and potentially lose the people he had begun to hold dear?

Vegeta was appalled with himself when he could not answer that question right away. He was further horrified when he was unsure what scared him more – losing his family, or losing the fight.

This... _disquiet_ he felt when holding the baby between his palms, though. It didn't have a name or a face. He couldn't put his finger on why he was so uncomfortable with the thought of this baby, and why he couldn't feel anything wrong with its _qi_ while still feeling something was _very_ wrong.

Bulma could see the upset on his face, and set her palms on his shoulders. “Wanna talk about it?” Drawing close to her mate, Bulma ran the tip of her tongue out and sketched along his earlobe.

His face became a thundercloud. He twitched his face away, suddenly surly. “No. You wouldn't understand anyway.”

“Try me.” She wound her hands around his neck.

“ _No_.” He pulled from her embrace. Fetching a deep breath, he ran his fingers through his hair. “Bulma, I...I'm sorry. I – I just _can't_.” He couldn't raise his eyes to meet hers. Gods, he was so damned angry all the time. He wanted to open up to Bulma. He wanted it so badly he could taste it.

“All right...all right,” said Bulma in a placating manner. “I won't push.” She stroked his cheek, and wonder of wonders, Vegeta let her. “I'm gonna pop a movie into the old Blu-Ray tonight. Wanna join me?”

Brushing his still-wet fringe out of his eyes, Bulma smiled cheekily at him. She had mentioned to Vegeta more than once how much she loved the bangs that fell over his forehead when he woke in the morning, and when he stepped out of the shower. He brushed them back as soon as he was able, but Bulma loved how youthful they made him appear. She adored how sweet they made his face look when he was asleep, the early morning light shining through their bedroom window and glistening on his raven hair.

He shrugged, raising his eyes to meet his mate's. “All right.” A slow, shy smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “No music tonight, Bulma?”

She returned his sweetness. She knew that meant he wanted love. “Maybe tonight, for bed. I'll pick the movie for now, you pick the LP for later.”

“Deal.”

7

After supper, after the sun had set, after the baby was put down for the night, Bulma turned on the television and fired up a movie. Remote control in hand, she stretched out on the chaise before the TV screen and got comfortable. Vegeta slid behind Bulma's back and pulled his mate close.

One of the things that confounded Vegeta about _Chikkyu_ was television. It was mostly mindless drivel – either there to bore its viewer into submission, or to spoon-feed information to its audience that, half the time, were outright falsehoods.

Movies, though, were entertaining enough for both of them, albeit for different reasons. Bulma would watch a movie for human portrayals and people interacting with each other and the mushy love scenes. Vegeta loved explosions and shoot-'em-ups and _space operas_ , of all things.

So, if she said so herself, Bulma picked a good flick that night - _Starman_. She dimmed the lights and snuggled into Vegeta's midsection. They watched their movie in characteristic silence.

Roughly two hours later, Bulma snapped off the TV. She turned to Vegeta and grinned. He sat there, gobsmacked. She touched his knee. “You all right?”

“That was...” he said, finally. “I didn't expect that.”

“Mmm.” Bulma adjusted the volume on the baby monitor, lowering it a bit. “What was so unexpected?”

Vegeta raised one shoulder uneasily. “The Starman...is me.”

Pursing her lips slightly in confusion, Bulma dropped her head on Vegeta's shoulder. “I don't understand...aside you coming from outer space. What do you mean?”

His heart squeezed a little. Should he tell Bulma what the movie elicited from him, what memories it dredged up? Did she deserve to hear it, after all she had gone through to win him to her home? He thought Bulma was a stronger person than he could ever be, and so made his decision. He stroked her hair, and caught her eyes with his, and prepared to hurt her.

“When...our group prepared for the Android attack, I...” He swallowed through a rictus. “I wasn't going to leave just _you_ after we defeated them. I was ready to leave _Chikkyu._ Forever.”

At a complete loss for words, Bulma blinked at Vegeta. She opened her mouth once as her gaze trailed to the far corner of the room. When no words came, she closed her mouth, then raised her eyes again to meet his. Finally: “ _Why_?”

Unsure himself, Vegeta shook his head. “I don't know, not anymore. I thought, then, that I could still find immortality out in the far reaches of space...when I realized I already have it here.” His arms tightened around his beloved. He ruminated in silence, putting his words together carefully. “There is something else.”

When Bulma nodded at Vegeta to go on, he tilted his head to one side and dropped it on the crown of Bulma's azure hair. “Starman didn't know what love was until he came to _Chikkyu_ , either.”

Shocked into silence, Bulma wasn't sure what to make of Vegeta coming to terms with how he felt about her. They lay that way for many moments, holding each other close in the dimness of the living room. Vegeta caught his mate's eyes one more time, and steeled himself. “I need to ask you for something.”

Still unsure of her words, Bulma simply nodded. His fortitude was made strong by his mate's smiling eyes, and by the love he felt for her that he hadn't the testicles to give voice to yet. He took a breath and tightened his hold on Bulma.

“Marry me.”

Bulma's mouth opened suddenly, her jaw hanging in astonishment. Of all the things she expected Vegeta to say, that most certainly wasn't at the top of the list.

Still.

“I beg you. Be my wife." He swallowed, hard. "Here on _Chikkyu_ , I'm nothing without you.”

It was all she wanted now. She had her children, her company, her family and friends...and now her handsome prince asked her to be his princess. It was as if all her childhood dreams had come true. And yet...? “I...don't know what to say.”

Vegeta squeezed Bulma to his chest, his face earnest but grave. “I want you to say 'yes'. _Please_.”

Bulma reached up and touched Vegeta's lips with her fingertips. “Am I allowed to say 'I love you' tonight, too?”

He let loose a gust of nervous laughter. “I think I'd be a little cross with you if you _didn't,_ for once.”

She nodded, and wound her fingers together with his, and said the word that he wanted her to say.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well.
> 
> This turned out a lot more maudlin than I care to admit. My husband was admitted to the hospital a few weeks ago for acute renal failure, and things have been a little...well, off in my life. Also a little bit emotional on my part, which in and of itself is a completely new paradigm. My husband, you see, has always been the more emotional person in our relationship, and I the emotional support, and the quarks that make up our life have been a little strange in our world with the completely unexpected role-reversal. So basically, these odd emotions are coloring my stories. It seems off to me, but...yanno.
> 
> About the Starman reference during the movie-night scene. I guess that deserves a little explanation. Andy (my husband) and I watched that movie together at his old apartment during our first date-night, way back in late 1996. We watched the movie on his old Trinitron as we had a picnic on his bed consisting of jug wine and fresh ravioli. So, as you can guess, the movie has deep emotional meaning for the both of us - and now that there is a chance that I might lose my twenty-years-plus mate at any time, the movie itself has become, to me, a symbol of love, and of hope, and of eventual loss...and I'm not sure what else I can do to torment these characters, but I can bet you a dollar to a doughnut they're gonna go on the same journey as Andy and I had, at least to some extent. 
> 
> Helluva roller-coaster ride, no?
> 
> In other, less depressing news, my current headcanon is that the fringe Ouji-sama had as a child is still there, but Vegeta brushes them bangs straight back so he doesn't look like an overgrown toddler. It manifests itself when he wakes up in the morning and he has bed-head, or when he's fresh from the shower. This is me not caring whether it's canon or not. I just like the idea. So there.
> 
> Okay, enough rambling. Depending on how life goes, the next chapter won't take nearly as long to publish as this one did. To be fair to you guys, the next chapter has already been written, and only needs to be edited. It basically suffers from the same affliction as all my other chapters - diarrhea of the Open Office document. It's another long one. Sorry. 
> 
> I'm hoping life doesn't throw me a spit-ball and I disappear for half a year, but rest assured whatever happens I'll let you Constant Readers know what's up. Thanks for being there, and thanks for reading.
> 
> Later.


	5. Tawny

_In the woods there grew a tree_

_A fine, fine tree was he._

_On that tree there was a limb_

_And on that limb there was a branch_

_On that branch there was a nest_

_And in that nest there was an egg_

_In that egg there was a bird_

_And from that bird a feather came_

_Of that feather was a bed._

_On that bed there was a girl_

_And on that girl there was a man_

_From that man there was a seed_

_And from that seed there was a boy_

_From that boy there was a man_

_And for that man there was a grave_

_From that grave there grew a tree._

_Paul Giovanni - The Maypole Song_

1

The final six weeks spun themselves out, as Bulma's pregnancy came to its end. She began her maternity leave at Capsule Corp., and began the interminable wait for the baby to be born.

Not one to rest on her own laurels, Bulma began to cast about for things to occupy her time and keep her mind sharp. Easier said than done. After the first week of her maternity leave wound out, when every sudoku book in the house was filled and every crossword puzzle completed, when she had caught up on every serial she had queued and when all the jigsaw puzzles in the house were done with Trunks' help...she looked to her mate for more.

She knew Vegeta wanted to better himself by learning to read the common languages of _Chikkyu_. She knew that was nigh-impossible, as there were far too many languages on Chikkyu to begin with. But! Bulma had the time, and the inclination...so why not start with the language of the West – their part of the world? She hit all the online bookstores she could and purchased tens of thousands of Zeni-worth of work- and textbooks. She figured Trunks would eventually use them too, so why not get all she could now?

Two mornings later, a full delivery van arrived at Capsule Corp. Vegeta stood in the doorway of the house, his jaw agape. Bulma pushed past her affianced, and clapped in excitement. “Oh, they're here!”

“I'm not even going to ask,” said Vegeta. The van driver handed the _Ouji_ a clipboard and a pen, of which he immediately loured at and passed to Bulma. She signed it with a smile and a flourish. After the twenty-odd cases were delivered to the front door, Bulma turned her head to look expectantly at Vegeta. “Could you help me with these, please?”

He narrowed his eyes at his betrothed. “I... _you_ ...!” The corners of Vegeta's mouth drew down in a furious bow.  _“Pah!”_ He bent down angrily and scooped up five stacked cases. He hefted them, wondered silently what the cheesly hell was  _in_ the double-cursed things that made them so damned heavy, and strode, cursing, past Bulma and through the open front door.

When the twenty or so cases were safely inside, Bulma motioned to the cases. “I got these for you.”

Vegeta gave her an ugly look. “What the hell _is_ all this?”

“Books,” she said brightly. “I've noticed you trying to make some sense out of the written word since you've arrived here on _Chikkyu_ , so I got you some textbooks and the workbooks to go with them! Now I can teach you to read Western...”

During her entire word paroxysm, Vegeta felt his blood pressure rise. How dare she. How _dare_ she mock his inability to read, and make him feel so damned simple. He opened a box, and pulled out a child's workbook. The little book hurt him more than any kick or punch ever could. When she smiled again and clapped her hands in delight at the prospect of teaching him to read, Vegeta felt his mouth pinch and felt that familiar tightness between his eyebrows as they snapped together. “The _fuck_ you will. I'm not an imbecile, Bulma.”

Bulma felt her own face turn the color of an old brick. Vegeta gazed upon her much-loved face, and quailed inside when that beloved countenance became furious. _“What?”_ she said. “All I wanted to do was help you. I saw how hard you tried to figure out the languages here on _Chikkyu_. You do realize there are well over six thousand known languages here?” She jabbed her thumb into her chest. “I have my doctorate, and I'm a god-damned rocket scientist, and I'm only fluent in _three_ of the languages here on Chikkyu. And I never said you were an imbecile. What the hell do you take me for?”

“I know you didn't,” he said, grating his teeth, as he tried to hide his embarrassment at that bit of knowledge. “That's my point. I would have figured Western out sooner or later.” Before she could retort, Vegeta moved closer to Bulma until their noses touched. “I _can_ read and write, Bulma. I just can't read and write _your_ language.”

Bulma pulled a hurt face at the man she loved. “I was willing to help you reach your goal.” Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. “I'm sorry I did.” She pushed past Vegeta in the narrowness of the foyer, close enough for Vegeta to hear her sob.

When he stood alone in the vestibule, he raised his hands to his forehead and pushed his now-tumbled hair out of his eyes. He raked his hair in frustration, and not a little bit of chagrin. “Gods above,” he said to himself, a shaky exhalation pushed past his numbed lips. He planted his hands on his hips, staring at his feet, before he gathered his mettle about him and followed Bulma through the hallway to the stairs that led to their quarters.

The door squeaked minutely as he pushed it open. It was dark as pitch in their bedroom. His heart took an unhealthy lurch in his chest when his night-eyes had a chance to strengthen. He realized Bulma was curled in a ball in the middle of their deep bed, sobbing. Vegeta felt quite bad, indeed, for making his woman cry. He cast his eyes away from the sorry sight in their bed and cracked one of the blackout curtains to let a little natural light stream into their _boudoir._

He climbed into bed beside his mate, worrying the corner of his lower lip. “Bulma.”

“Go away!” Her sobs had taken on an alarming quality; it sounded like that when her head felt like it was in a vise, and her stomach roiled, and her eyesight was fuzzy and she saw odd shapes or total darkness in the corners of her vision. _So_ , he thought, _it's not just me causing her sorrow. Migraine._ He was immediately sorry he thought that. It was a hurtful thing to think.

She coughed out another sob. “I want to be left alone.”

He snuggled behind his _onna_ and reveled for a moment in the scent of her hair, before an idea began to form in the back of his mind.

“I know you do,” he said. “I don't want to.”

“Oh,” she said sarcastically, weeping as if her heart was breaking, “far be it from you to care about how I feel and what I want. Leave me the hell alone!”

“No,” he said again. He wrapped his arms around Bulma, nestling his nose in the valley between her shoulder and neck. “I want to do something for your hurt.”

She wept into her pillow, which had taken on a sodden, lumpy look. “You _can't!_ I can't take a damned thing with the baby still in me. If this persists, I'm gonna have to wait until I'm done nursing until I can take anything for this pain. I might have to give this kid formula.” She balled her hands into fists, and beat at her pillow. “I feel so damned useless! I can't fix this, and I can't do a god-damned thing about it until the baby is born!”

“Let me help you,” he said.

Bulma sniffed, and turned over to face Vegeta. “What can you do to help me?”

Vegeta answered her question with another question. “Are you allowed to lie on your back any more?”

Bulma shook her head and added, “I can lie on my side,”

Vegeta made a sound of understanding, and quickly adjusted the idea in his head. “When does the brat get back from day care?”

Glancing over Vegeta's shoulder at the digital alarm clock on his bed-stand, she rubbed at her eyes like a little girl, screwing her fist into the orbital bone. “Not for another two and a half hours. It's his last day, so they're having a little party for him. The transport bus isn't due to drop off Trunks until noon.” She swallowed, and took a watery breath. “Why?”

He smirked at his mate, blood crashing into his cheeks. Vegeta pushed his face closer to hers, and slid his cheek against Bulma's. “Sit on my face,” he said in her ear, nuzzling her throat.

She crimsoned. “Are you joking? No _way_! I'll squash your head. I'm tremendous!”

“You won't, and you're not,” said Vegeta, chuckling. He sobered. “I want to give you relief. Will you trust me?”

“Yes,” said Bulma without a second thought. “Yes, dear God. I'll take whatever relief I can...” She stopped, dumbstruck. “Wait – my mother told you that, didn't she...that sex helps migraines?”

Vegeta turned a lovely shade of carmine. He snapped his gaze away from Bulma, despite the embarrassed grin. “She might have.”

Bulma laughed, then – she laughed hard. “Still a savage,” she said, when she was able. “She mentioned 'kissing me on my naughty bits', didn't she?”

If it was possible, Vegeta's flush darkened. His ears were very pink. “She did.” He joined Bulma in her laughter, and she already felt better...although, she wouldn't say no to what her mate had proposed. She would _never_ say no to it. Good grief, he had a nimble and talented mouth.

Vegeta rolled off the bed, and stood on his side. Bulma rose slowly, and stood across from him, the bed between them. “Get undressed,” he said, a quaver now in his voice. Bulma disrobed, and for once Vegeta allowed her to do it herself. If Bulma wasn't seeing things, she was sure he was getting a rise from her gravid burlesque show. “You have no idea how much I want this.” Soon enough, Bulma stood before Vegeta, naked as the day she was born, and Vegeta was taken aback by her body's beauty. Gods. _Gods._ “Oh,” he said, in awe. “You're lovely.”

If anything, Bulma was oftentimes as vain as the day was long. Now, feeling insecure about her body and in constant pain that she could do nothing about, she raised her arms to cross them over her ample breasts. “No, I'm not.”

“You _are_ ,” said Vegeta. His hands stole to his fly, and slowly popped the buttons. When his jeans hung precariously on the shelves of his hips, Vegeta crossed his arms over his chest and grasped the hem of his tee-shirt; he drew the thin fabric over his head, and stood before his lover with it dangling from one hand. Vegeta let the shirt drop from his hand onto the floor; as he did so, he let his jeans slide down his muscular legs.

Not able to help herself, Bulma felt her body respond to Vegeta's striptease. Her eyes trailed down her man's body. She felt her body become hot when she realized two things: one, he had foregone his usual jockeys and had gone regimental under his jeans; two, he was rock-hard. Bulma pressed her hands to her breasts. When she felt the areolae harden under her palms, she drew her fingers down her body; all the while she watched as Vegeta reacted to her self-touch and slowly slid his own hand down his length. He grunted softly, as he stepped out of his jeans and crawled onto the bed.

Gazing at his sweetheart from under his eyelashes, Vegeta rolled onto his back, and held his hands out to his mate. “Climb on,” said he, _sotto voce_. Bulma nodded, crawled onto the bed herself, and did so at once. Afraid that she really _was_ going to asphyxiate Vegeta, Bulma hovered over his face and waited.

When Bulma was in place, Vegeta grasped her butt and pushed her closer to his mouth. He lifted his head a fraction and slid his tongue into her. She released her pent-up breath in a rush. “Aah,” said she, and settled closer to her affianced. Vegeta squeezed her hips in gratitude, and then one of his hands slid from her upper thigh and disappeared. Not long after he removed the fingers of his left hand from her bottom, his lower body began to bump almost comically under Bulma.

Gently rolling her hips in time to Vegeta's tender ministrations, Bulma breathed laughter. “Couldn't wait?”

“Mmh-mmh.” She could feel Vegeta's noise of negation buzz against her, and it made Bulma's head spin. His stroking hand found a particularly tender spot, and Vegeta was caught completely unawares when his cock became slick in his hand. He grunted with force against Bulma. Vegeta bucked his hips in time with the throbs, his mouth working double-time.

Spiraling sweetness began in the pit of her belly and in moments roared through her body. _Douceur de vivre_ enveloped Bulma, and she climaxed hard. When she was able, Bulma slid from Vegeta and they lay together in their fine bed, facing each other.

Panting, Bulma said, “Good gravy.” It was more than Vegeta could say, as all he could do was gasp for air, eyes closed, his head pillowed against her breast.

When he could finally speak, Vegeta licked his lips, cracked one eye open, and said, “That sneaked up on me.”

“I sorta doubt that.” Bulma laughed as her arm snaked around his hip. “You were beating it so hard I expected you to yank it out by the root.”

They shared a laugh. In the quiet of the darkened room, Vegeta reached up and stroked Bulma's shoulder. “All right.”

He lips brushed his. “All right _what?”_

Vegeta raised one eyebrow and sighed hard. “All right, I'm willing to take a little time out of my busy schedule to let you teach me Western.” He pursed his lips around the little smile that threatened to erupt. “It won't take long, and I can begin my heavy training regimen again.”

“So,” said Bulma, “You think you're gonna dedicate a weekend to learning to read, or something?” She chuckled with very little humor. “Yeah, okay. We'll see about that.”

2

On the morning of the beginning of her 41st week, Bulma woke and greeted the baby. She placed the tips of her fingers on her sternum and said, “Hello, _Torōru_!” She ran her hands from underneath her breasts to the downy rise of her pudendum with infinite gentleness. She was rewarded for waking the baby when it kicked her in the liver with some force.

“ _Hurrf_ ,” she said, laughing. “This one takes after Papa too.”

“Maybe she's as insulted at what you've taken to calling her as I am,” said Vegeta, stirring at that moment. “Who told you it was a good idea to name her _Torōru?”_

“Or him,” said Bulma, pulling her body closer to her lover. She slid her arm over Vegeta's stomach. “ _Torōru_ is temporary until the baby's born. It's considered a bad idea to give your child a name before birth, because naming a baby before it can defend itself can attract demons and other baddies to it.” She shrugged. “Not that this kid won't be able to defend itself against bad guys...look at its parents.”

Yawning, Vegeta concurred. “ _Hrrm_. At least _one_ of her parents can defend himself.”

Bulma propped herself up on one elbow. She faced Vegeta and gave him a long look. “About that. Why do you insist this baby is going to be a girl? Do you know something about this baby I don't?” She scratched at the tip of her nose. “We both agreed to be surprised when it came to the baby's gender – and to be frank, I couldn't care any less about _what_ the baby is, as long as it's healthy. You said the same thing. So why the sudden gender pronouns?” She grinned suddenly. “Are you peeking? Know something I don't?”

Now _that_ was funny. Of _course_ he knew. How could he not, as every time he touched Bulma's tummy he could feel the baby's _qi_ pulse back at him. He wasn't going to say another word on the matter, though. He had laboriously written a note to Bulma that she would open as soon as the baby was born. The sealed envelope was in the top layer of her hospital bag. In his scrawling print, was the baby's gender, how long and heavy he expected it to be, and the day Vegeta suspected it would be born. He did not expect to be wrong in any of his predictions. “No ma'am. I don't know a thing.”

Bulma made a sour face. “Sure.” She rolled out of bed and stretched. For the past week, she had waited for some sign of the baby's impending birth. Now that she was officially overdue, she had made an appointment with Doctor Katsumi's team at the hospital to have a caesarean section that afternoon.

“Okay,” said Bulma, dragging a book out from under her side of the bed. “One more lesson, Smart Guy, before I go in to pop this puppy.” She sat down on the bed again, Vegeta shimmying close and taking the proffered book from his mate's hands.

“Fine.” He opened the book to a bookmarked Chapter 2, and made a face. “I told you I could learn to read and write Western quickly. It's a lot like Intergalactic Common,” he said, acquiescently.

Bulma laughed. “I knew it'd be fast, but not _that_ fast. You're reading at a fourth grader's reading level, and it's barely been five weeks. Color me impressed.”

Vegeta flashed an impish smirk at Bulma, looked down at the book, and intoned: “'I wish I hadn’t cried so much!’ said Alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out. ‘I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! That _will_ be a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer to-day.’” Vegeta looked up from _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ and made a sound of disbelief. “This story is so...odd.”

“No argument here.” Bulma looked at the clock, and sucked at her teeth. “Scratch that reading lesson. We have to get ready.”

As he dressed, Vegeta glanced over at Bulma. “What about the brat?”

“Yamcha offered to take Trunks to the park until I give birth. He should be on his way.” She hefted her hospital bag before Vegeta snatched it out of her hand.

He snaked his arm around Bulma's waist, and pulled her closer. “Let's do this,” said Vegeta.

As they drove to the hospital, Bulma touched her tummy. Her belly was quite round, yet she felt it was not nearly as big as she was with Trunks. She frowned. Now that it was time for the baby to arrive, she had begun to feel the same trepidation Vegeta felt whenever he touched the baby through the thinned skin of her stomach.

She shook it off like a dog shook off fleas. There wasn't any reason to worry. The doctors would have said something if anything was amiss.

When they arrived at the hospital, her obstetrician wasn't there yet, but Doctor Katsumi was. “Ready for the procedure, Miss Bulma?”

“I sure am...” she started, just as her water broke.

3

“Now _that_ was surprising,” said Doctor Katsumi. “Doctor Tora didn't even have time to get here for the birth, that was so fast.”

“No joke. It was like the baby was on a Slip 'n Slide. I suppose I should be thankful he's tiny, at least compared to Trunks,” said Bulma, motioning to the newborn. “That would have hurt if he was a big baby. And to think, I was in labor for two days with Trunks. This one took two hours.” She looked up at the doorway of her room, to Vegeta. He could not help but smile at his mate and second child.

“So...another boy, huh?” Vegeta stood across the room. He leaned against the door.

“Yes, sweets. Another boy.” Bulma looked down at her new baby's angry little face and marveled at how much he resembled his father when he was pissed. Grinning, she glanced up at Vegeta. “Wanna hold him?”

Pursing his lips, Vegeta folded his arms. “No.”

Nonplussed, Bulma stared at her man. “No? _Why_?”

“You're doing a passable job of it yourself, Woman.” When Bulma simply shrugged at him, he unfolded his arms and ambled to her bed. He spoke to her as if she was a toddler. “This is the perfect time for you to bond with him, isn't it? I have the rest of my life to forge a connection with this one – with _both_ of my sons.” He folded his arms again and jerked his chin at the screaming infant. Vegeta looked at Bulma with a dry, disapproving expression. “He's hungry. Did...you want me to hold the brat while you nursed him so your hands were free to play the clarinet, or something?”

She snorted, and untied the front of her hospital johnny. “Now _that's_ a charming mental picture. Smart ass.” She leaned back, and positioned the baby to nurse. The baby rooted for a second, opened his mouth wide, and latched on painfully. Bulma winced and gazed down at the babe with wonder. “Trunks wasn't like this. This little guy is rough.”

“Hmph.” Vegeta grunted through his nose, turning his head so Bulma couldn't see his smile. “He's still only a halfling, but this little brat shows his Saiya-jin heritage much more than the big one did.” Vegeta sat on the edge of the bed, and bent over the baby. He shut his eyes. Surprising Bulma and Doctor Katsumi – who for her part beat a quick retreat – Vegeta snuffled at the baby for almost a minute. After he was finished doing...whatever it was he was doing, Vegeta raised his head and opened his eyes to look thoughtfully at his mate. “Kind of like the big one.” He grinned. “Interesting.”

Bulma's jaw dropped. “Do...do Saiya-jin sniff their children when they're born?”

Vegeta said, blinking and confused, “Are you telling me _Chikkyu_ -jin _don't_?”

Settling back on her pillow, Bulma stroked the baby's head as he nursed. “Maybe we do, and aren't aware of it,” she murmured. “So, what's so interesting about how the kids smell?”

“Well, nothing – except I didn't expect them to smell the same. I thought they would have different scents, but...” He leaned down to sniff at his son's head again, when the baby opened his eyes and regarded his father for the first time.

“Oh, lovely!” Bulma bowed her head closer to the baby. “That's a color I didn't expect!”

Vegeta's eyes widened in shock, and he drew in a sharp intake of air. He jerked back suddenly, staring at his son.

“ _Mumma!”_ said Vegeta.

“Huh?” said Bulma. She glanced up from the child, and regarded her man.

Unable to tear his gaze from his son, Vegeta exhaled slowly. “My mother.”

Bulma looked down at the babe, nonplussed. “What about her?”

He sucked at his teeth in annoyance, and rolled his eyes up to regard Bulma. “Look at my eyes, _Onna_. You've seen more than one Saiya-jin in your lifetime...what color eyes do Saiya-jin have?”

Bulma tilted her head to one side, her lips pursed in thought. “I guess they were all like you, no? All of them have eyes as black as ink. Your eyes are so dark, in fact,” she said, “that I can't see your pupils...unless I get really, _really_ close to you.” She pushed her face close to her love, and pressed the tip of her nose to his.

“Cut that out, you,” said Vegeta, his dimples deepening despite his best effort to be menacing. He reached up and stroked an errant lock of hair off of Bulma's forehead to put a little affectionate distance between the two. “My point was, my mother's eyes were tawny. All Saiya-jin babies are born with light brown eyes, just like most human babies are born with varying shades of blue. A Saiya-jin child's eyes darken as they age, just like a human's would.” He inclined his chin at the baby. “I half-expected this, because of the ways he is manifesting his Saiya-jin genes.”

Bulma brushed her lips against one of those dimples. “And...your mother?” she said, pressing him to continue.

“Mmm,” said he, reminiscing and enjoying the affection from the _Onna_ despite himself. “Mumma kept her babyhood eyes. It was considered an anomaly, one that wasn't looked upon with favor. People who had tawny eyes were considered throwbacks; they were regarded as weak and simple... _lowly_.” Vegeta's face darkened; he vaguely remembered the way most of Father's staff looked at Mumma. “As far as I could make of it, it was an old, stupid superstition that just...managed to carry on, I suppose. She was as capable a warrior and regent as anyone else could have been.”

Stroking her son's clenched fist, Bulma glanced up at Vegeta. “And yet, your father chose your mother to be his Queen. That speaks volumes about the King.”

Raising one knife-bladed eyebrow at Bulma, Vegeta grunted. There was much Bulma did not know about his past. He was unsure if he was ready to share it with her yet. Vegeta decided he was not and remained silent on the matter, focusing his energies on the baby.

There was no need to scare Bulma, at any rate. Not yet.

Lost in his reverie, Vegeta dropped his head on his sweetheart's pillow, and scrutinized his new son. He brushed aside the tiny fringe of dark hair along the baby's forehead with the tips of his fingers, and grinned hugely when he saw a miniature version of his own widow's peak underneath. He slid his arm over Bulma's now-unoccupied belly, so as to shift himself a bit closer to their little boy.

Bulma watched Vegeta carefully, as he regarded his tiny son with a touch of reverence. She paused a moment before delicately touching her forehead to Vegeta's. This was the first time Vegeta was willing to bestow more than his usual infinitesimal amount of affection or attention in public, albeit subconsciously, and Bulma wanted to take advantage of it for as long as she could. She wouldn't tell a soul, but his hands-off approach to their relationship in public did wear on her, and she wanted more than just the fleeting touch she got from him in the privacy of their home.

She gathered her courage, and spoke. “Vegeta, what happened to your mother?”

He flinched. His eyes rose slowly to meet hers. They lay the way for a few moments before he took in breath to speak. “She died, Bulma.”

She tried to mask her gasp. Calling her by name in public was also something Vegeta normally didn't do. Steeling herself, Bulma pushed on. She could hear warning klaxons go off in her head, but she steadfastly ignored them. “How? When Vegetasei was destroyed?”

The frown-lines between Vegeta's eyes deepened. “Why do you want to know?” he asked Bulma quietly.

“Because...” she said. She shook her head at his beloved, frowning face. “Because I want to know you better. Knowing where you've come from will go a long way toward knowing where we'll eventually end up.” Bulma refused to say the 'L' word any more to Vegeta. It was a surefire way to rile him up, and today wasn't a good day to have _that_ argument with him.

Wonder of wonders, Vegeta made a small sound in his throat and acquiesced. He dropped his scrutiny to the child, so as not to hold his woman's gaze. For some reason, it had begun to burn.“No. She did not die when Freeza destroyed Vegetasei. She died in childbirth.”

“Oh.” Bulma's mouth opened and closed once. She now felt uncomfortable with the man she called her husband in the privacy of her heart. When she could find her voice, she said, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry.”

He stared at her for a long time. _If I wanted to, I_ could _take offense,_ thought Vegeta, _but I don't think I have it in me to be angry at you for being ignorant of my past. I don't share much of anything with you, do I? It's_ my _fault you are ignorant._

Ultimately, Vegeta sighed and bit his tongue. “It's all right. You had no idea.” He continued, propping his head up on one bent elbow. “My father told me, when I was very small, that my brother Tarble was sent away because he was weak, and an embarrassment to our bloodline. For a long time, I believed him.” He raised his free arm and spread his hand before he allowed the baby to grab onto one of his fingers. After fighting the strange feeling that his heart was about to burst through his rib cage, he continued. “The older I get, the more I am inclined to believe Tarble was sent away because Father adored Mumma.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I resembled her only a little bit.” He motioned to his features. “I have her hair color, the thickness of her eyelashes...her height,” he said with a chuckle. “I much more closely resembled Father. Tarble looked a lot like Father too, but he resembled Mumma much more than I did.” He heaved another deep breath. “I'll bet Tarble grew up to be as gentle as Mumma became after she had given birth to me. I think Father resented Tarble for being born and stealing Mumma away from him. It probably killed Father to look at Tarble, but I suspect he loved Tarble too, in his own way. If he did not, I'm convinced Father would have killed him straightaway.”

As the baby dozed against her breast, Bulma silently absorbed Vegeta's reverie. After a moment, she said, “Do _you_ feel resentment toward your brother?”

Taken aback, Vegeta shook his head. “Of course not.” He pointed at the baby. “It was as much Tarble's fault that Mumma died that it's Trunks' and this one's fault that I've taken you as my mate.” He turned his head to stare at the opposite corner of the room, brooding. “I don't think I'll understand what Father was feeling when Mumma died.” He twisted his lips. “I hope I never do.”

A warmth bloomed in Bulma's chest, but it didn't last long. The baby began fussing, and Bulma winced again. She disengaged the baby from her breast. “Oof. He bites.”

Vegeta raised one hand in mock-commiseration. “Does he have any teeth?”

“No...”

“Well. Consider yourself lucky.” He stood, allowing Bulma to offer her other breast to the babe, and to circle the bed so he could face the little one again. When the little one fell to the other breast, Vegeta reached out and stroked his downy head. He then did something that shocked Bulma, right down to the soles of her feet. Vegeta opened up to her in a way he never had.

“I miss her...my mother.” The corner of his mouth crooked up ruefully, his eyes on his son. “It's not in our nature, as Saiya-jin, to form bonds with our families like that, but the older I get, and the more of these I have,” said he, motioning to the baby, “the more I find myself missing Mumma. Today, I miss her very, very much.”

His gaze rose, then, and Vegeta regarded his heart's blood. “I think Mumma would have been fond of you.”

Bulma gave him a genuine smile, her eyes twinkling. “You think so?”

He nodded. “I know so. You remind me a bit of Mumma. I think she would have considered you a kindred spirit.”

"Thank you." Bulma smiled, much more broadly.

Answering Bulma's cheeky grin with one of his own, Vegeta looked into his mate's eyes. "What's _your_ problem?"

She laughed. "Your name...and your brother's name. You guys together are named Vegetable. That's the silliest thing I've ever heard. Adorable, too."

4

Ten minutes later, Yamcha arrived with Trunks in tow. Trunks ran to Mama's bed and threw himself onto it. He crawled to his Mama and Bulma slung her arm around her first-born, covering his blushing face with kisses.

“I miss Mama!” Trunks snuggled into Bulma's side, pressing his face against her breast.

“I missed you _more_ , Trunks!” She hugged him tight-tight-tight until he squeaked with a giggle.

Yamcha crossed the space between the doorway and Bulma's bed. He reached out, and smoothed her hair from her forehead. “So how are you doing?”

“A little sore, but otherwise all right,” she replied. She motioned to the chair next to her hospital bed.

Yamcha turned his gaze in that direction, and inclined his chin. “Vegeta.”

“Yeah, last I checked,” Vegeta said truculently.

Despite himself, Yamcha laughed. “Of course.”

Changing the subject, Bulma pointed at the other chair in the room, which Yamcha took with a murmur of thanks. “How are the Taitans doing this season?”

“Oh!” Yamcha leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees. “We're a half-game out of first. We lost one of our other pitchers to a rotator cuff injury; if it wasn't for that, we'd have been in first place since the All-Star break. Also, our first baseman got beaned pretty hard a few weeks ago and his eye socket was fractured, but he's coming off the DL in a few days."

Smiling, Bulma pointed to Yamcha. “How's _your_ arm doing?”

“Healed a long time ago,” he said. “I still get K's.” Yamcha smiled fondly at Bulma. “So what were you two doing before we rudely interrupted you?”

Tapping his teeth together in irritation, Vegeta said, “We're trying to name the brat.”

Yamcha tilted his head in confusion. “Wait. Why do you guys need to choose a name? You mentioned a few weeks ago that you've already been calling the baby something for the past half-year. What were you calling him, if it wasn't his name?”

The faintly polite expression fell from Vegeta's face with an almost audible crash. He gave Bulma an ugly look. Smiling, Bulma said, “ _Torōru ningyō_.”

Yamcha laughed out loud.“You've been calling this kid 'Troll Doll'? _Why_?”

“You know why. It's to keep the evil spirits away,” said Bulma. She raised her hand and waggled her fingers next to her cheek. “Booga booga...or so Mama says.”

“Sure it is.” Yamcha couldn't help but laugh. The kid was probably going to have hair that grew straight up like his old man's. “So, have you two narrowed the name list at all?”

Bulma raised a shoulder. “Somewhat. It's not like when Trunks was born, and all I had to worry about was my own list of names.” She glanced over at Vegeta, whose face was set in stone. She regarded Yamcha again. “To be fair, we each have a single name we've narrowed it down to. And I'm not going to budge on mine.”

Vegeta looked up suddenly at his mate, and jabbed a finger at his newest son. “Bulma, I am _not_ naming this kid Truss...no matter how much you cry and scream. I'm an other-worlder, and even _I_ know what the hell a truss is. You!” He looked at Trunks and motioned him close. Trunks squealed with happiness. He jumped from Mama's bed and approached Papa. He placed his hands on Papa's knees, and attended him closely. “Do you like the name Truss?”

“Uh-uh!” said Trunks.

“There you go,” said Vegeta with a small smirk. He placed the palm of his hand against Trunks' crown. “Even Trunks thinks it's a stupid name, and his skull hasn't hardened completely yet. Burusu is a much better name.”

Bulma pulled a small pout, nodding at Vegeta. “All right, Fucko. I'm willing to play." She smiled at her son. "Trunks? Do you like Brussels Sprouts?”

“Yuck!” said Trunks. He laughed aloud. He loved playing this game with Mama and Papa.

“There _you_ go,” said Bulma, smirking herself.

Still giggling, Trunks climbed the bed again and snuggled next to Bulma. “Baby!” said he, pointing to the wee one.

“That's right,” said Vegeta.

Trunks pushed himself into Bulma's side, clutching at her hospital johnny. “ _My_ mama!”

“Well, who else is gonna be your Mama? _Papa_?” said Bulma. She glanced up at Vegeta, and they shared a smile despite themselves.

Trunks reached over Bulma's still-impressive belly, and touched the baby's foot with his forefinger. “Bitty baby Rus!”

“You see?” Vegeta motioned to Trunks. “Even the big brat is calling the little brat Burusu. We should name him that.”

Bulma rolled her eyes heavenward. “You must be deaf.” Vegeta's face turned the color of a bowl of cold oatmeal, but she didn't notice. “Trunks clearly called him Truss.” She looked at Yamcha. “You heard it, right?”

“Uh...” said Yamcha.

Vegeta recovered from his momentary fugue almost instantly. “ _You're_ the one that needs to have her hearing checked!" Vegeta frowned mightily. "I sure as hell couldn't hear the name Truss in what the brat said, anyway, and I have peerless hearing.”

“Rus!” said Trunks again.

“My first cousin, twice removed, was named Truss!” A flush bloomed in Bulma's cheeks. “It's a strong name...also, alliteration. Trunks...Truss? It works!”

“ _Rus!_ ” said Trunks again, more insistently.

Vegeta pinched the bridge of his nose, holding onto his temper with both hands. “Truss is _not_ a strong name. A truss is a god-damned banana-hammock.” He flashed Bulma a withering glare. “ _Also_...screw alliteration. Kids that have the same initials make my teeth hurt.”

“Kids in general make your teeth hurt,” said Bulma. Her countenance darkened. “I'm not giving in on this one, Pal. Burusu...I'm _sure._ It's gonna be Truss.”

Vegeta tipped his face downward and glared at Bulma through his eyelashes. “Oh, fuck _that_. There's no way in Hell I'm going to let you name this kid Truss.”

Trunks looked at Yamcha in exasperation. “Unk!” His face said _help!_

“ _Uh_...” said Yamcha again. He shook himself visibly. Here he was, in a small room with the two people on Earth that terrified him the most (besides Panchy, but she was in a class by herself), and the two most fearsome people on _Chikkyu_ were currently getting ready to start shrieking at each other. Yamcha cleared his throat, gathered his testicular fortitude to the vest, and reached out and tweaked Bulma's big toe through her thin hospital blanket.

Said tweaking had its desired effect. Bulma jumped, and yelled “OW! _Hey_!” The baby started crying due to being startled _and_ jostled. Vegeta's face turned into a thundercloud, and Yamcha could read his death on the _Ouji's_ countenance.

Yamcha did the only thing he could do: he gestured at Trunks with both his hands. “Your son is trying to talk to you two.”

Bulma and Vegeta turned their heads in unison to their first-born, and Trunks took that opportunity to become shy. Yamcha smiled reassuringly at the boy, silently willing him to continue so his parents didn't kill either of them on the spot.

To his credit, Trunks took a long look at his parents and by some miracle it bolstered his courage. He pointed at the baby. “Rus!”

Bulma glanced at Vegeta. “ _Rus_?” She looked at the baby. “I guess it's a good compromise between the two...”

Mulling it over, Vegeta twisted his lips sardonically. “You're willing to compromise on this...after weeks of argument.” He shook his head in bemusement. “Fine. It's an acceptable compromise.”

“Mmm, I _am_ willing.” She cuddled the baby close. “Truss can go on his birth certificate...”

Vegeta made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “I guess...”

“...His Saiya-jin name can be Burusu...you know, for that _thing_ you do...and everyone can just call him Rus. You're right, it's the perfect compromise.”

Vegeta, taken aback, grunted. “It's not just for that 'thing I do'. A Saiya-jin has centuries of descent behind his name.”

“I wanna Saiya name!” Trunks crawled into Vegeta's lap.

His Papa pulled a sour face. “Trunks,” he said, “You already have a Saiya-jin name.”

“I _do_?”

“You do. Mine.” He stood, Trunks in his arms, and tossed him on his mother's hospital bed. Vegeta held his hands out for the baby. “You are the fifth Vegeta in my blood-line.”

“You know? Now that I think on it, I'm surprised you didn't want to name this kid Tarble.” Bulma glanced up from the baby, but did not receive the lazy smirk she expected from Vegeta. His eyes were wide, his mouth turned down in a fearsome frown. He flicked his gaze at Yamcha, and shook his head imperceptibly.

Yamcha chortled. “Vegeta-tarble...vegetable?” He pointed to Bulma. “Now _that's_ clever, Bulma.”

Vegeta gave Bulma a nasty look as he took the baby. The newly-named Rus looked at his father and blinked his peculiar eyes in somnolence. Vegeta held this one with much more confidence than his first, and sat himself in the reclining chaise by the bed. He crossed his legs at the ankle, cradling Rus close to his chest, ready to begin the family's chant. Without raising his gaze from Rus, he said, “Out.”

Yamcha, disappointed he wasn't part of...whatever _this_ was supposed to be, complained as he rose to his feet. “Aww, _c'mon_!”

“This is only for family,” said Vegeta, keeping his eyes resolutely on Rus.

“But I _am_ ,” said Yamcha, steeling himself.

Vegeta blinked once, and whipped his head to behold Yamcha angrily. “ _What_?”

“You heard me,” said Yamcha. He could feel his bladder quiver. “I _am_ a part of your family.”

Silence descended. Yamcha took a deep breath and willed the feeling of impending doom away. Vegeta sat in the easy chair, staring at Yamcha, breathing heavily through his nose. Vegeta glanced at Bulma, who for her part remained silent. Whatever Vegeta chose to do was his decision alone.

Vegeta nodded slowly. “All right. You can stay. I warn you. You so much as fart while I'm doing this and interrupt us, and I'll end you.”

“Okay,” said Yamcha amiably. Beyond being inquisitive, Yamcha was glad Vegeta didn't just cheerfully tear his head from his shoulders.

Vegeta took a deep breath. He whispered into Rus's ear. “ _Uratavash_.”

Trunks popped up from his mother's side, and beamed at his Papa. “ _UrrrrrrrrataVASH, Bejiita!_ ” he said, rolling the words over his tongue like Papa did.

Vegeta smiled at Trunks. “That's right. Now hush.” Trunks hushed as Vegeta looked down at Rus.

“ _Uratavash, Burusu. Suno donrei o monesh._

_Bejiita moneshi ilthuir sarenzan'o monesh_

_ando konjeo_

_cari'koa rei o suno noh muhdil_

_migen da cari suno dei cari'koa_

_cari'koa ando suno_

_foss ando konjeo.”_

5

Listen, Rus. This is our song.

The glory of our family and the conquests of House Vegeta

Shall live on for all eternity

From our ancestors to you, my child

Remember this chant for your own children

So that your flesh may sing your song

and grant you immortality.

6

That evening, as Doctor Katsumi readied herself to leave, Vegeta approached her. “Doctor,” he said.

“Mister Vegeta! What can I do for the new daddy tonight...”

“I need you to do something for me, first thing tomorrow.”

The good Doctor nodded at once. “Of course. What would that be?”

Vegeta did not drop his gaze. “I need a test ordered for the baby.”

Katsumi nodded again, a little bit nonplussed. “Certainly. Do you have any reason to be concerned about anything?”

He bobbed his head. “Yes.” He fetched a sigh. “I need you to order a hearing test for Rus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uratavash, Burusu. Suno donrei o monesh  
> (Attend, Burusu, this song of our House)  
> Listen, Rus. This is our song.
> 
> Bejiita moneshi ilthuir sarenzan'o monesh  
> (House Bejiita's glorious conquests of our House (family)  
> The glory of our family and the conquests of House Vegeta
> 
> Ando konjeo  
> (Eternally lives on/eternal life)  
> Shall live on for all eternity
> 
> cari'koa rei o suno noh muhdil  
> (My heart's blood has of our song from his earliest ancestors)  
> From our ancestors to you, my child
> 
> Migen da cari suno dei cari'koa  
> (Lock in your heart/soul this song for your heart's blood)  
> Remember this chant for your own children
> 
> Cari'koa ando suno foss ando konjeo  
> (Your heart's blood shall sing eternity's song and will grant you eternal life)  
> So that those you love may sing your song, and grant you immortality.


	6. Moonication

_I'm an alligator_

_I'm a mama-papa coming for you_

_I'm the Space Invader_

_I'll be a rock-and-rolling bitch for you_

_Keep your mouth shut_

_you're squawking like a pink monkey bird_

_And I'm busting up my brains for the words_

_Keep your 'lectric eye on me babe_

_Put your ray gun to my head_

_Press your space face close to mine, love_

_Freak out in a moonage daydream oh yeah!_

_David Bowie - Moonage Daydream_

1

Two days after arriving at the hospital for Rus' birth, Bulma prepared her hospital bag for the trip home. She shook the contents of her bag onto her bed; all that was left in the duffel was a few packets of saltines, one lone juice box, and two pair of unused maternity underwear. She heard something rustle against the lining of the bag, and gave it an extra shake.

A small envelope fell out of the duffel. Bulma picked it up, bemused. She flipped it over to read Vegeta's coarse handwriting. _“onna”_ it read, in his scrawling print. Smiling, Bulma tore the envelope open and shook a small, folded note out of the envelope. On the scrap of paper, it said:

_september 18 th_

_2500 grams_

_43 cm long_

_it's a boy_

_if you name him truss i WILL kill you_

_you are my heart's blood_

Bulma laughed aloud. Besides showing Bulma his own brand of unrefined affection, Vegeta guessed the baby's measurements nearly down to the centimeter...Rus was born at 17 inches long and five pounds, six ounces. Rus was tiny, almost too tiny to go home right away, but physically the baby was as healthy as a newborn Saiya-jin could be. He inherited his father's voracious appetite, so his weight had already gone up three ounces since his birth and got the seal of approval from the doctors in the maternity ward to go home.

One of the doctors that gave their thumbs-up was Doctor Katsumi, whom now stood in Bulma's doorway. Normally jovial and talkative, she fidgeted silently until Bulma blew an almost irritated sigh. She scooped Rus from his bassinet and motioned at Doctor Katsumi. “Jeez, Doc. Why are _you_ standing on ceremony? Come in, already!”

“Right,” said Katsumi. She came in, and nearly bolted when she saw Vegeta in the chaise by the bed, Trunks snoozing in his lap. They locked eyes, and Katsumi dropped her gaze first. She stared at the tops of her sensible shoes, and nodded once.

He blinked, despite knowing all along that something didn't ring true. His face twisted.

Katsumi sat on the bed, and motioned Bulma to follow suit, which she did. “I need to tell you something about Rus.”

“Is everything all right?” Bulma leaned toward Doctor Katsumi, her rosy countenance fading to a sick paper-white. “Is there something I should be made aware of?”

 _In for a penny, Kats,_ said the Doctor to herself. “Yes. Rus...might be deaf.”

Silence.

Doctor Katsumi sighed. She did not want to push the new mother, but this needed to be addressed. “Miss Bulma?”

The silence deepened, if that was possible, then: “What do you mean?”

Katsumi took another deep breath. Dear God, this wasn't easy. “Rus was administered a newborn hearing screening, and...he didn't do very well.” She reached out and touched Rus' forehead. “You were asleep for it, but your husband allowed us to put the electrodes on his head and insert the plug in his ear. That was for both parts of the screening, and it was completely non-invasive. The first part of the screening tests for OAE...otoacoustic emissions. The little hairs in the cochlea give them off.”

Bulma blinked at the medical jargon, understanding on a clinical level what the words coming from Doctor Katsumi meant...but still thunderstruck by the news. Doctor Katsumi turned her hand over in her lap. “In a normal cochlea, simple movement of these hairs make tiny sounds, like echoes, that the microphone in that earplug picks up on. We weren't able to pick up any echoes on the first screening.

“The second test involved the little electrodes, and it measures brain activity responding to the probe we put in Rus' ear. That's the Auditory Brainstem Response test. We administered the ABR test twice, and...” Katsumi fidgeted again. The good Doctor dropped her eyes and examined her own hands. “We will have to refer the baby to a pediatric audiologist to administer more tests to be sure. For all we know it could simply be vernix in the ear canals, but...from what I can tell, Rus might very well be profoundly deaf.”

“I...” Bulma sat with her tiny, beautiful baby in her arms, completely at a loss for words. She glanced over at Vegeta. He sat in the easy chair by the bed, Trunks in his lap. Trunks was asleep, Vegeta was not. The Saiya-jin _Ouji_ would not raise his eyes to his inamorata. He fetched a deep breath and gazed out the window. She stared at Vegeta for a long time in silence. Wrinkling her brow, Bulma glanced back at Katsumi. “Are all babies administered hearing tests at birth?”

Inclining her chin at Bulma, Katsumi made a sound of agreement. “Yes. All newborns are given the hearing screening. Rus would have received this test even if Mister Vegeta hadn't approached me to order it in the first place.”

Bulma's eyes sprang open. She spun her head around to glare at Vegeta. He refused to look at her. Nodding derisively, she turned back to Katsumi; she pursed her lips as a dark flush escaped her collar. “ _Did_ he.”

Katsumi blinked and mentally cursed herself; she knew at once she was in hip deep with these two by showing Mister Vegeta's hand to Miss Bulma, and the shit just happened to be rising rapidly. “It's not a foregone conclusion that Rus is deaf, Miss Bulma. His tests do point to it, however, which is why I'd like to schedule a few more tests and be sure of it before making an appointment to install his cochlear implants...”

“His _what?”_ Vegeta finally took that opportunity to come alive and open his mouth. “What the hell is that?”

“Mmm.” Katsumi circled the bed and sat at the foot. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, and spoke to Vegeta as if he were an infant. As she spoke, his mouth twitched as it drew down into an irate bow. “It allows you to take in information through your auditory nerve, and it directly stimulates the cochlea when it is too damaged to take in information itself.”

As angry as Bulma was with Vegeta at that moment, she felt a tiny bit bad for Katsumi. If she didn't stop with the 'all-knowing doctor just trying to give sage advice to her idiot patients' bit, Vegeta was going to murder her with a smile on his face.

Despite all that, Doctor Katsumi's gentle words had a mollifying effect of Vegeta. He blew a relieved breath. “So you are telling me this implant will cure Rus' deafness?”

“Well...no.” Katsumi raised one hand in commiseration. “It is a significant improvement over being profoundly deaf, for certain, but the implant user is still deaf. The sounds that the deaf person 'hears' thanks to the cochlear implant are, unfortunately, nothing like the natural sounds someone like you or I can hear. Still, it will go a long way toward normalizing Rus and allowing him to integrate into...”

Vegeta tilted his head at the Doctor. _“...What?”_

Katsumi tried to talk sense into the upset man before her, unaware that her words continued to rile Vegeta, and with good reason. “I think it's the right thing to do, especially this early. If we do the surgery at 12 months, this sound he hears will be normal for him at a very early age.”

“Why the fuck do you keep _saying_ that?” Vegeta stood, and gently lay Trunks on the hospital bed. Turning his body back to the Doctor, his choler rose. “It's not like he has an extra arm growing out of his shoulder! He's _not_ abnormal...he's deaf!”

Taken aback by Vegeta's anger, Katsumi blinked once and drew back warily. “Now, we don't know definitively that Rus is deaf...there are still tests...”

“ _I_ know.” He hooked his thumb into his chest. A vein throbbed in Vegeta's forehead. Bulma tilted her head at him and became more than a little concerned. Vegeta wasn't merely angry, or upset. He was _furious_.

Katsumi shook her head. “This decision for Rus to get the cochlear implants is something you two can sleep on for an entire year. Let's make sure he grows up right, and healthy, and when he's old enough we three can talk about the implants.” She gazed at the baby in Bulma's arms, and smiled at her tiny charge. “We _four_.” She held her hands out to the baby. “May I?”

As Vegeta tensed visibly, Bulma beamed at her friend. “Of course.” Katsumi held her hands out for the baby, and it was all Vegeta could do not to snatch the newborn from the Doctor's hands.

Katsumi held Rus close, and pressed her cheek against his dark curls. Rus pinched his tiny face and glared at his mother's friend, making Katsumi laugh. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought Rus was Vegeta's clone. She handed Rus back to Bulma, and placed her hand on Bulma's shoulder in farewell.

As she exited the room, Katsumi said, “I'll see you soon.”

“For sure,” said Bulma. She glared at Vegeta again as Katsumi left.

Without meeting her gaze, Vegeta grunted angrily. _“What?”_

Spinning on her heel, Bulma whirled around to behold Vegeta. “Was _this_ what you didn't want to talk to me about?” She held Trunks' light fall jacket out to Vegeta, and he snatched it out of Bulma's outstretched hand.

“Maybe. What of it?” He bundled a still-asleep Trunks into his windbreaker for the walk to their vehicle. “Would it have made sense to frighten you without knowing myself? Would it have made a difference if I had told you, even if I was unsure? ”

Strapping Rus into his car seat, Bulma nodded once, her choler evident. “It _might_ have!” She gestured at the baby carrier. “I might not have been so shocked by what Kats just dropped on my head.”

Vegeta approached Bulma, and gently placed his palms on her shoulders, drawing her close. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily. When he got himself – and his inamorata – calmed, he nodded once and glanced up into her luminous blue eyes. “You're right. I...I apologize for not telling you what I suspected of the baby.” He ground his teeth. Apologizing wasn't something he was particularly good at, but from all the things he had learned in the years they had lived together, the lesson that had stuck with him the longest was that he would never be happy if he didn't give in to Bulma every once in a while. “Forgive me.”

The muscles in Bulma's arms and shoulders unraveled, and she blew a sigh. “All right. I'm sorry I tore your face off. This news is a little terrifying, but we'll find a way to get through it.” Bulma touched her forehead to Vegeta, and planted a kiss on the tip of his nose.

They stood that way in the privacy of Bulma's hospital room, heart to heart, their children nearby sleeping the sleep of the just.

2

The months passed, as they are wont to do. Autumn passed, with its crisp, strangely inviting smell of death; Autumn's expiry gave way to the finality of Winter. The New Year brought hope to a dismal time of the year, but then it was back to the boring slog of days before the sun came back.

So it goes.

In her fine silken lingerie, Bulma stood before her great-grandmother's full-length hinged mirror, and with her mother's assistance, gently stepped into her dress while she thought of endings and new beginnings.

Sleet ticked against the wide French doors of Bulma's _boudoir,_ as she lifted her hair off her shoulders so Panchy could button her champagne-hued dress up the back. Her dress was elegant and simple, with an empire waistline and long sleeves.

Bulma glanced out the window and sighed. She didn't mind getting married in wintertime – one of the greenhouses in their dome compound was lovely and smelled of Spring year-round, and was where they planned to have the reception – but there were days during the cold times that she felt blue and lonely, and wondered if having something like her wedding anniversary during those sad times might be a bad idea.

What happened to the people that meant something to her? What happened in the past decade that caused her to push them away – or was it the other way around? Did her friends push _her_ away? What happened with Yamcha? Gods...she loved him so much, and she was sure he loved her with an intensity that was unmatched by anything she had ever seen until she met Vegeta, and they had stayed that way for a decade. Yet...things ended between the two of them. _Why?_ The question lingered still.

 _Enough_ , she thought. Bulma shook off her megrims and turned to her mother, baby's breath and a few tiny white roses in her outstretched hand. “Mama, can you help me put the flowers in my hair?”

“Sure, Sweetie,” said Panchy.

3

He wasn't sure why he didn't drink more often.

Vegeta knocked back another shot of whiskey, grimacing. Gods alone knew the taste of hooch wasn't why he wanted to get shitfaced today. He was marrying the love of his life, and he knew – he _knew_ – how lucky he was to be offered such riches.

It wasn't the literal wealth he wanted. Gods knew he wasn't marrying Bulma for the money. He couldn't care less for worldly goods anyway. When he left Freeza's employ, he had a small fortune saved, since he had no need to spend it on food or lodging. Freeza provided that for his troops _gratis_ anyway. Bulma and her family – and himself through marriage, he supposed – were basically farting through silk, and he never gave a shit about that fact one way or the other.

What he _did_ give a shit about was he was getting married to the woman who made his life worth living...and he couldn't bring himself to tell Bulma that he loved her. He poured himself another shot, and knocked it back, and his head swam in an interesting and delicious way that conveniently made him forget how confused he felt.

The drink helped. The more he drank his drink, the more convinced he became that it was high time to tell Bulma how he felt about her

He tried to tie his tie again, and realized he was too damned drunk to see what he was doing. Maybe he could get Bulma to tie it for him...wait. He remembered he wasn't allowed to see Bulma before the ceremony. Vegeta came to the tipsy revelation that it was a stupid superstition, and was going to ask Bulma anyway...

“Hey.”

Vegeta spun on his heel and beheld whoever had the brass balls to interrupt his drunken reverie. Yamcha was at the door, one hand raised to rap on the door frame.

 _Figures_.

Reeling on his feet, Vegeta narrowed his eyes at Yamcha. “I need to tie my tie.”

Yamcha couldn't help but laugh. “Dude, you're gonna be late for your own wedding. Lemme help you.” He approached the diminutive Saiya-jin, and nearly got knocked on his ass by what smelled like a tankload of booze. “Jesus wept! You smell like a distillery.”

“Shut up,” said Vegeta, slurring his words outrageously. He looked away, embarrassed, when Yamcha came close enough for Vegeta to smell the man's aftershave. After a few moments of Yamcha making Vegeta presentable enough for his wedding, he twisted his shoulders away from the bandit. “You done?”

“Yeah.” Yamcha made a noise of disgust, and crossed his arms over his chest. “You're welcome.”

Vegeta, made even more uncomfortable by the idea that he now owed his mate's ex a favor, looked down at his shuffling feet and, without raising his eyes, held a fresh bottle of whiskey out to Yamcha.

“Want some?”

4

“Okay,” said Bulma. She tapped her foot. “Where is he?”

Panchy glanced up by the pond's edge, and cleared her throat. “I hope to God I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing.”

Bulma followed her mother's gaze, and wet her lips with her tongue. Vegeta was on his way, with – of all people – Yamcha, walking on the short stone wall surrounding the pond. As they came around the bend, Vegeta's foot slid from the wall and his body tipped forward and sideways toward the pond. If Yamcha wasn't there, a severely-impaired Vegeta would have most likely gone into the drink. Still, he managed to dip one leg up to the knee into the pond before Yamcha yanked him by his arm and helped right Vegeta before he overbalanced and cracked his skull on the paving stones surrounding the duck-pond.

Sighing, Panchy motioned to the two men with one delicately manicured finger. “Are they _both_ drunk?”

Bulma laughed. “Yup.” Vegeta got off the little stone outcropping, and approached Bulma. He smiled at her, weaving. Bulma stroked his cheek, and his smile widened. “You okay, Sweets?” she said, grinning herself.

“My foot is wet,” said Vegeta. He shrugged. “I feel funny.”

Bulma shook her head. “You _look_ funny. Found Dad's whiskey stash, did you?” When Vegeta nodded unsteadily, Bulma touched her forehead and blew a sigh. She took Vegeta's elbow, and motioned to the flower-bedecked archway. “Oh, he's gonna either laugh or want to kill you. Let's do this before you throw up on me and pass out.”

The ceremony itself was like Bulma's wedding gown – simple, yet lovely. The magistrate held a long swath of red fabric, and motioned for the couple to join hands.

Vegeta couldn't remember much – if anything – of the words the JP used at the ceremony, but he could remember feelings he had, gestures they made to each other, Bulma's smile, the smell of wild honeysuckle that grew on the outskirts of the vast greenhouse/conservatory they and their family and friends currently enjoyed. He remembered the magistrate asked them to join hands so he could wrap the crimson fabric around their linked fingers. He remembered words like 'Honor' and 'Obey' and 'Cherish', but not much of anything else. Bulma spoke the words of the _Chikkyu_ ritual as if it was drummed into her head since childhood – and if Vegeta was a betting man, he'd bet it _was_ something she had known since she could walk.

Vegeta did his part as well, despite being drunk as a lord. He rocked slowly on his feet, and grinned at his affianced as the JP prompted him to speak the words of the ritual, before pronouncing them husband and wife. The newly-married pair bent their bound arms at the elbow and stepped closer to each other for their first married kiss.

When Vegeta kissed Bulma at the end of the ceremony, his mouth was soft and redolent of whiskey; his free arm slid around Bulma's waist and drew her close. When she reciprocated and wound her slim arm around Vegeta's shoulders, he pulled his face away from hers. Vegeta took a deep breath, steeling himself. His arms tightened on Bulma.

“You complete me,” he said. He pressed his face into her throat. “Thank you.”

Bulma took the statement for what it was, and pressed her lips to the cup of Vegeta's ear. “I love you too,” she whispered.

5

After the quick and sweet ceremony, the party started in earnest. Brief carried a small DVCAM and recorded their friends and family saying hello and wishing the newly married couple well. Vegeta smiled brightly as the mountains of food arrived on site for the reception. The assorted guests, Saiya-jin, and human warriors perked up almost immediately when it arrived and the pungent, savory aroma permeated the compound and over-wrote the now-cloying smell of the honeysuckle. When all was said and done, everyone present fell to the huge, delicious reception spread with gusto.

Gnawing on a turkey leg and ambling aimlessly by the pond again, Vegeta glanced to his right. Rus stood there by the little stone wall. When Papa looked in his direction, Rus smiled and spread his arms akimbo. He opened and closed his fingers, bouncing on his toes. He pointed to the domed ceiling, and Vegeta nodded amiably at his son as he scooped him up.

Vegeta curled his free hand and ran it down his belly, then raised his eyebrowa at his son. _"Are you hungry?"_ His son nodded enthusiastically and grabbed Vegeta's turkey leg. Vegeta laughed at his mini-me and let Rus finish the leg. Gods alone knew there was enough to last a few days.

As Rus dove into Vegeta's half-eaten turkey leg and Vegeta's laughter tapered off, Trunks skipped to Papa with a napkin. "Mama says to clean up!"

He tilted his head at his eldest. "Why?"

"Iunno." He handed the dampened napkin to his father. Vegeta knelt, balancing Rus on one upcocked knee. When he swabbed his hands and face with the rudimentary wet-nap, he glanced up at Bulma, who had just materialized by the stone wall.

"So," he said, wiggling his now-clean fingers outrageously before his equally-clean face. "Is this good enough?"

"Good enough," echoed Bulma. She twinkled at her husband, and waggled the DVCAM she procured from her father at Vegeta. "Your ugly mug doesn't have to be perfect for the wedding video."

Vegeta groused for a second before remembering they were just married, and relented. "What do you need of me?"

“Say something.”

He turned his head to his wife, just out of frame. “What the hell am I _supposed_ to say?”

Bulma spread her hands. “Anything, really. Say hello. Introduce the boys. Say something...nice, you know? This is a wedding announcement, after all.”

“ _Tch_ , fine,” he groused. He looked at the camera again, pursing his lips. “Hello everyone. Bulma and I just got married.” He knelt down and hefted Trunks in his free arm, then straightened. He addressed the cam. “These two are Trunks and Rus.” He beamed a savage, ersatz grin, batting his eyelashes outrageously. “I shot them out of my penis. You're welcome.”

“ _Vegeta!”_ Bulma curled her hand into a fist.

“Yup. Last I checked,” he said, still baring his teeth at the camera. “We had these two before we got married. We wanted to get the 'fun' part out of the way before we officially tied the knot.” His grin became genuine for the first time. “Know what that phrase meant to the Saiya-jin? 'Tying the knot', I mean?”

Behind the small DVCAM, Bulma shook her head. “No,” she said. Twinkling at her new husband, she dimpled. “Enlighten us.”

“All right.” He bounced Trunks and Rus on his hips. Trunks slung his arms around his Papa's neck, squealing, and Rus giggled around the turkey leg. “Before a Saiya-jin couple mated ritualistically, the female was tied and bound by her parents, so she wouldn't escape if she didn't want to spend the rest of her life with her affianced.” He chuckled. “That usually wasn't the case, as it was more often than not the females who wanted to choose a permanent fuck-buddy.”

Out of frame, Yamcha called out drunkenly to Bulma. “Um, is he allowed to say that on your wedding video?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “I'll edit it in post.”

Vegeta motioned to his chest. “Being tied and bound eventually morphed into a little ritual that involved a special undergarment. There were hundreds of little, intricate knots that her affianced would have to untie to remove it from his mate...that is, if he wanted to get to the prize at the end of the ritual.” He flushed further, and grinned in a hangdog sort of way. “After the true meaning of the ritual was lost to time, it just became part of the ceremony to tie those knots. Usually, the man would just snap the little cords keeping him from making his babies.”

He chuckled, still soggy from the boatload of booze he and Yamcha had knocked back earlier. “From what I remember, the mating ritual didn't exactly stick with most couples on Vegetasei. Except for the royal families and, maybe, some of the higher ranking military officials, no one bothered with it after a while.” He shrugged, smiling gamely. “I guess we're not wired that way, us Saiya-jin, to partner like that...but when we do decide to life-mate, it is forever. It doesn't happen often, but even members of a stupid, brutish race like ours know a sure thing when we see it.” He looked at Bulma and smiled, and Bulma's heart did a fluttery loop-the-loop in her chest.

Smiling back, Bulma hooked her finger under the bodice of her dress, and pulled it down a few millimeters. There, under the charmeuse and lace, was the simple greige-colored cotton bodice Vegeta had given her to wear. All of the intricacies were tied, and all of the little knots begged Vegeta to loosen them. He could already feel the finely-made homespun beneath his fingers, could feel errant threads snap beneath his fingers as he fumbled with haste through the ritual so he could hold his darling close and feel her bare skin against his and bed Bulma as his wife.

6

Before most of the guests were to leave the reception, Bulma had a surprise for them. As it was the New Year in most parts of _Chikkyu,_ she prepared a fireworks display for her family and friends.

The sleet and freezing rain had the good grace to stop for the display. The pyrotechnicians were able to work quickly and in relative peace from the elements. When they were ready to loose the fireworks, the clock stood at five minutes to midnight.

Bulma and Vegeta had changed into much more comfortable attire, while their children donned their favorite warm footie pyjamas and parkas. From underneath the hood of her own parka, Bulma twinkled at her husband when the boys practically hugged themselves in excitement. Vegeta grinned back, feeling closeness and camaraderie with his wife but also feeling the child-like enthusiasm his boys felt.

The first festival ball launched. Trunks whooped and jumped in Bulma's arms, even before it exploded in the chilly night air. When it detonated, Rus got his first fiery, colorful glimpse of pyrotechnics and shrieked with savage joy into the night.

Vegeta felt that joy, felt the savagery that raced through his sons' veins; when the finale soared and the clock struck midnight, he howled to the night, his sons joined in, and all was right in the world. Rus pointed his index fingers into the air and stabbed the air above his head, mimicking fireworks launching into the night. Vegeta gasped the biting cold into his lungs and felt his gut pinch and wished, for the first time in Gods knew how long, that his mother was still alive to know her grandchildren and her son's mate.

Gods.

_He missed Mumma so much._

7

She missed Mumma so much.

Nikunin held her little one and sighed. Her son was born the day before last, and it was an exhausting, painful experience. Her slight body ached terribly. She worried that her frailty would make feeding the baby an impossibility, and that a wet-nurse would have to be called in to ensure Vegeta wouldn't starve to death.

Perish the thought. Geta wouldn't allow any danger to befall his pride and joy. He'd call in an entire brigade of wet-nurses to feed Junior, were it absolutely necessary. Nikunin smiled, a bit sourly. She glanced down at her baby, and realized Vegeta was _her_ pride and joy, too.

She wished Mumma was there to walk her through being a new mother. She knew nothing, and it hurt that Mumma wasn't there to help her and guide her and just... _be_ there. She didn't know what to do if Baby Vegeta turned out to be like herself. Mumma would know, Nikunin was sure.

Vegeta was so small. She knew how small _she_ was when she was born. Her size was simply one of many harbingers of her...limitations. She stroked the baby's hair, and Vegeta grunted in her arms. He pursed his little mouth, his eyebrows coming together tightly. His face pinched, and he began to wail.

 _Gods,_ she thought, as she cradled the baby and brushed his fringe with her lips. _Gods, please don't let my baby be like me._

Vegeta opened his eyes three times since his birth. The first sight of his tawny coloring upset both _J_ _o-ō_ and _Ō-sama_...much, _much_ more than his size ever could. She refused to let her upset show on her face, as it was during the bonding ceremony. She wanted to bond with her son and not frighten him with her tears. She would not allow her son to be upset before Geta chanted the family's song; Geta would never forgive her anyway if he fouled up the chant because of her. He only had one chance to get it right, and she wouldn't allow her son's ceremony to turn out wrong. Gods knew he had so many other things that could potentially be wrong with him.

She knew, deep down, that she had nothing to worry about when it came to her baby. Vegeta was as attentive to his father during the ceremony as any other hearing baby would be. All Saiya-jin babies were born with varying shades of light-colored eyes – 'twas a throwback to their Ōzaru heritage, and she was most certain Vegeta's eyes would darken over time. But still, there was that infinitesimal chance that as an adult Vegeta would look at the environment around him through tawny eyes, and that his world would be as silent as hers.

The baby balled his hands into fists, and opened his mouth wide to let everyone in the castle know how put out Vegetasei's little _Ouji_ was. His face, all squinched eyes and shrieking mouth, turned an angry red. Smiling, Nikunin touched Vegeta's cheek with her nose. She nuzzled her son and marveled at how much he looked like Geta when he was in a massive fit of pique.

The corners of her mouth curled when the baby turned his little face to hers and started rooting on her cheek. She looked up at Geta, who had materialized in her _boudoir's_ doorway, and twirled her finger in the air. She pressed her curled hand to her still-massive belly. _“He's always hungry.”_

 _Ō-sama_ patted his own muscular belly, and shrugged. _“Just like me.”_

The _J_ _o-ō_ gave her King ample time to scamper out of the room, if he desired. He did so the second time she attempted to nurse Vegeta. The baby had been having problems latching on properly, and wasn't the happiest newborn. Had she and her husband traded places, and it was her watching both wife and child struggle and weep miserably when the baby's feeding wasn't going well, she would have fled the scene too. When he regained his composure, Geta returned and waited patiently for the child to begin feeding properly.

When Geta made no attempt to bolt from the sweetness of motherhood about to ensue, Nikunin untied her smock and brought the baby to her breast.

Surprising both Nikunin and Geta, Vegeta finally latched on properly and began to nurse. Nikunin sighed, and held her baby closely. Vegeta opened his eyes again, and Nikunin had a moment to admire the baby's coloration, and thought for a split second that if his current eye-color meant what she expected it to mean, Vegeta would grow up to be a remarkably handsome man, with his father's features and her tawny eyes...beautiful, albeit profoundly deaf.

She and the baby locked eyes, and continued with their own bonding ceremony. Geta let them. He watched his Queen and their little _Ouji_ until the baby was finished with his meal. When little Vegeta fell asleep against his mother's breast, Geta reached out and touched Nikunin's cheek with the back of his fingers to get her attention.

When Nikunin looked up, Geta put his hands together, palms down. He turned them over, making a round shape in the air. He looked down at his boy, and touched his forehead. _“The baby needs to go into his incubation pod,”_ said Geta. He winced. Geta knew full well Nikunin would probably eat him alive for this.

Her face turned into a thundercloud. She shook her head hard enough to make her hair fly. _“No.”_ Her arms tightened reflexively on the baby. She removed her right hand, fingers pointing down, and flicked her fingers at him. _“Not yet.”_

Frustrated with Nikunin, he nodded once, curtly. _“Yes!”_ His eyes bored into hers, searching his wife's face. His face close to Nikunin's, he relented. _“All right,”_ he said, making a sawing motion against his upturned palm. He mollified her further by twirling his right index finger and touching it to his left. _“When?”_

Nikunin made a squeezing motion before her breast, then rubbed her thumb and forefinger together. _“Let me nurse a little bit longer,”_ she said. She made her own sawing motion against her leg. Nikunin reached out and took _Ō-sama's_ hand. _“All right?”_ She mouthed the words, _“One month.”_

Geta's mouth tightened. He didn't expect it to be _that_ long, but he loved his _J_ _o-ō_ desperately and with no boundaries, so would give Nikunin the sun, moon, and stars if he could. He nodded again. One month in the grand scheme of things wasn't that long – and if his scientists were correct, Vegeta would grow to be the most powerful warrior on Vegetasei...maybe even the galaxy, and beyond.

He sighed, and reached out to stroke his mate's hair. He nodded. _“All right.”_

8

Kinoko hummed to herself, and stretched in the warmth of her home's vestibule. She shivered off the cold she brought in with her, and firmly latched the house's vaulted front door. All of their doors had to be vaulted, thanks to her gigantic Pa and four of their nine equally-massive children. She could never understand what Pa saw in her, as small and round as she was...beside the fact that the loving was glorious for them both, she never understood what the draw was for her slightly dopey, immense life-mate.

Winter in their part of Vegetasei was short but brutal, and Kinoko was grateful for the massive bank of clean-burning stoves in her lavish kitchens. Her home was comfortable and inviting every single day of the year. The stoves she had weren't as many or burned as hot as the ones in the kitchens she worked at as head butcher, but they were utilitarian and served their purpose.

She slid her winter parka from her shoulders and hung it on the many-hooked coat rack further down the front hallway. Kinoko drew her little fingers through her short, pin-straight hair, and sighed off the stresses of her always full work day. Nodding when she was able to center herself, she turned on her heel and made her way to the kitchen to start dinner. As big as her family was, she needed a few hours to feed them all...

Someone rapped on the front door.

Kinoko turned slowly to regard the door. _No one_ simply knocked on their door. Any of their visitors usually bellowed to them through the stout wood of their front door before unlocking it with the spare key they hid under the large rock to the left of their door. The only person she knew that did not – _could_ not – bellow to them was currently recovering from a difficult childbirth. Despite it being over a month since the baby was born...but it _couldn't_ be...!

She ran to the entrance, and unlocked it. Even when she threw open the door and beheld Nikunin, Kinoko couldn't believe it. When the stout older woman realized Nikunin had the Prince tucked under her cloak, she clapped a hand over her mouth. Even if Nikunin _was_ the Queen, she was still subject to the Law...and what she had done was kidnap royalty. If Nikunin was caught, she'd be lucky if King Vegeta didn't kill her on the spot.

Still.

Kinoko quickly waved Nikunin into her house. When the slight woman was inside, Kinoko swept the door shut in a hurry. If anyone has seen what just transpired, Kinoko would be just as guilty if Nikunin was caught.

The two women stood face to face in the vestibule, both silent as death. Kinoko shook her head at Nikunin disbelievingly. She wasn't friends with the Queen, not really – Kinoko's life-mate was general to King Vegeta's army, and she had the opportunity to sup with royalty two months before the little Prince's birth thanks to her mate's nobility.

Kinoko knew Nikunin couldn't hear, so motioned to her house with one palm up. The older woman tipped her head to their living quarters and moved to the overstuffed chairs contained therein. Nikunin followed suit, and dropped into a chair with a whistling, exhausted grunt. She nodded to Kinoko and pulled Prince Vegeta from the folds of her cloak.

The Queen looked at Kinoko as she pressed the infant to her shoulder. She brought one finger up, and touched it to her lips. _“Not a word.”_

Kinoko glared at her Queen sullenly, before nodding in acquiescence. She sensed rather than saw or heard the girls watching them from the hallway. She whipped her head around to level her scowl at her nosy daughters.

To Kinoko's horror, six of her girls were home. She expected at least three of them to be there, as they were far too young to leave the house for work or battle training, but the other three were her oldest and had probably come home for some lunch.

“Mama,” said Kyuri, her eldest, as she peered around the doorway fretfully. “Who is that?”

“Show some respect, please,” said Kinoko. “This is your Queen and Crown Prince.”

Her daughters gasped and flew around the doorway, crowing with excitement. They ran to Nikunin and crowded her and the little _Ouji_.

A tiny hand reached out and touched Vegeta's foot. “Babby!” Zunami, Kinoko's youngest, had been promised to the Prince when they both reached sexual maturation to ensure Vegetasei's greatest strength remained on the throne for many years.

Nikunin reached out and tousled Zunami's hair with a smile. Kinoko's third daughter, Bocha, squeezed onto the overstuffed chair Nikunin sat in and pressed herself closer to the Queen. She leaned over the Prince and touched her nose to his, which earned the young woman an angry little _moue_ from the baby. “Oh, he's darling!”

Horrified at her children's actions, she tried to shoo them out of the room with very little success. “Show some _respect,_ girls! Respect!” said Kinoko, aghast.

Nikunin waved her hand at the stout Kinoko, to show she didn't mind her daughters' curiosity. Inwardly, Nikunin was grateful she spent the time she did learning how to read lips. Neither Kinoko nor her daughters knew the graceful, intricate signing language she and Geta had cultivated over the past three years; nor did they know the basic signing language of Vegetasei – which was much more barbaric and unrefined, compared to the flowing language she and her mate had created together – and could not communicate with their Queen in that fashion.

Kinoko suddenly looked panicked. She leaned closer to Nikunin. “Does anyone know you are here?” She mouthed the words outrageously, and Nikunin pressed her lips shut in a hurry. People who were able to hear mostly meant well, but it did put Nikunin's teeth on edge when she was seen as a mental midget. Sighing, she shook her head at the older woman.

Kinoko let her gaze float to the wall to Nikunin's left. “If that's so,” she said, almost to herself, “then maybe you can get back to the castle compound without being missed...”

Shaking her head and making her hair fly, Nikunin cradled the baby closer to her chest and looked out the window fretfully. Kinoko blinked at Nikunin before realizing the Queen was preparing to run away with the baby. When the implications of what _that_ might entail if the Queen was caught had crashed into her, the front door opened with such force it bounced off the wall oblique from the doorway. Kinoko heard and felt heavy, running footfalls down her front vestibule, and had very little time to react when a very large man burst into the room.

Nappa stood, panting and red-faced, glaring at the Queen. He looked over his shoulder and called, “She's here.” He turned his gaze back to Kinoko. “I ought to have known she'd be here.”

Oh, but that rankled. Kinoko hated to be accused of anything she was innocent of. As Kinoko's hands balled into fists, six of their nine children swarmed their father. Nappa turned the color of an old brick and stammered his greetings to his daughters. He lifted the littlest easily, and slung an arm chummily around his oldest daughter's shoulders. “H-hello, Bocha...yes, Kyuri, we two are hunting tomorrow...of course I will help you with your studies, when I return from hunting, Nokota...ouch, Zunami, don't pull! Watch Papa's hair!” He turned his head to regard his mate, grinning, before he remembered what he ran halfway around the city for. He twisted his lips bitterly at Kinoko. “Any reason you thought it'd be a good idea _not_ to alert me to this, Kinoko?”

“Don't _you_ start,” she snarled at the man who was so many times bigger than she. “The Queen showed up here unannounced not ten minutes ago. Had Queen Nikunin brought her heralds, I'd have known of her coming and prepared tea.”

Nappa's face darkened; before he could say anything rock-stupid and wave goodbye to any kind of lovemaking for the next month, a giant of a man with towering hair pushed past him and strode into the living area. He frowned at his wife as his hands came up and flowed with a grace neither Kinoko or Nappa had ever seen. The stony expression on Queen Nikunin's face softened, inch by inch, until she cast her eyes to Baby Vegeta and sighed. It sounded like winter wind through dead leaves.

King Vegeta further surprised the odd couple by approaching his Queen and stroking her hair. “Please?” he said aloud. _“Please put him back in his pod?”_ he finished, signing.

Without raising her eyes, she nodded. She held Vegeta out to his father, and rose. She signed to her mate, each movement nothing like the flowing ballet their hands made when speaking to each other. Each action was curt, angry; each measure was a scarlet exclamation point slashed through the air. _“I want him out of his pod once every two or three months for a week. I want him out when I give birth again.”_ She stroked her still-flat belly, and nodded once to her _Ō-sama_. _“I'm willing to give up mothering this one full-time, and possibly the next...and possibly all of them...but I want this one little thing. You_ will _give it to me.”_

Quieted by his mate's vitriol, he nodded meekly. “All right,” he said.

Nappa's considerable jaw dropped as King Vegeta straightened and held his elbow out to his wife. She took it, and they walked out. As they exited, _Ō-sama_ glanced over his shoulder. “When you return from your expedition tomorrow, I'll need to go over some recent orders from Lord Freeza with you. You'll arrive bright and early.”

The large man straightened, and saluted his King. “Majesty,” said Nappa. He glanced at his mate when the front door slammed shut, and bent at the waist to bring his face close to his little lover. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Can't imagine what my life would be like if it were like _that.”_

Kinoko grinned cheekily at her mate. “It'd be _boring.”_

9

Vegeta toddled to his parents' quarters, his keeper in tow. The bird-boned old woman twittered in the little boy's wake.

The boy wanted to see his Mumma, and his new brother. Papa mentioned that Mumma had to push the baby into this world starkers, and that she had to have privacy because of that reason and didn't need Vegeta to see her in that state. Vegeta threw a tantrum at that particular news, considering Mumma insisted her Vegeta be allowed out of his incubation pod for the new baby's birth.

“Wait... _wait, Ouji-sama!_ Please wait for me!” Vegeta impatiently stomped his little foot, but stopped for the old woman. He held his hand out to the woman, bouncing on the balls of his feet. When she caught up and took the Prince's proffered hand, he skipped in place and nearly pulled the old woman's arm clear out of its socket.

His parents' quarters were here, on the right, with their big comfy feather bed and Mumma's vanity chest. The vanity smelled like Mumma. It held the perfumed cream Papa gave her all the time to make her hands soft, and the oil she used, redolent of flowers and woods, that she used to dress her hair. Oh, he could smell Mumma's vanity already!

He rounded the corner with his nanny, and was met by a cacophony of noise paired with something that followed Vegeta into his adulthood.

The anticipated baby was on his parents' fine feather bed, seemingly forgotten. He was still covered in blood and fluid, his cord cut and perfunctorily tied off to ensure the newborn didn't bleed to death. The baby cried fit to wake the dead.

If only.

Vegeta frowned at his baby brother, nonplussed, before glancing further along the bed at his Mumma. His mouth dropped open, and in his horror he forgot his voice.

Mumma lay sprawled across the previously fine feather bed, the bed now soaked with his Mumma's blood. Mumma's eyes were open. Her pain-filled eyes bored into her little boy. She lay naked and spread out and looked so terribly vulnerable.

Papa stood over her. His hands were plastered over his mouth, his wide, too-wet eyes never leaving Mumma's broken body. The sight of Papa practically weeping over Mumma was enough to give Vegeta his voice back.

“ _Mumma?”_ he said, quietly.

Papa whirled on his heel, and he gasped. He shook his head, almost as if he was unsure of what to make of his toddler son staring at his dead mother. His mouth worked soundlessly until his wandering eyes settled on his newly-arrived general. King Vegeta gestured to his son with his chin. “Get him out of here,” he said, his voice nothing like the well-loved baritone Vegeta was used to.

Nappa glanced from the Prince to King Vegeta's Queen...and blinked when he saw the state of his _J_ _o-ō._ King Vegeta bashed Nappa out of his horrified reverie by punching him on the head. “Now! Get him out of here, _now!”_

Nappa grunted once in understanding, and grabbed Prince Vegeta under his arms and whisked him from his parents' _boudoir_ and down the hall to the incubation room. From Papa's friend's arms, the _Ouji_ began to shriek, but only one word.

“ _Mumma! Mumma! Mumma! MUMMA!”_

10

Zodiacal light painted the sky to the east. Its milky, diffuse light cast a gentle glow through the rounded windows of the bedroom, on the fine bed that sat opposite those windows, and on the couple that occupied that fine bed.

Sometimes, he relived terrible things from his life in his nightmares. Tonight, he saw his mother's corpse again. It didn't surprise Vegeta; Mumma was on his mind all day yesterday. He turned and stroked his new wife's sleeping body gently, rhythmically. When Bulma woke, slightly irritated at being woken after such a full, heady day, Vegeta slid to her side of the bed and curled his body around Bulma, spooning her.

“Bad dream?” said Bulma, _sotto voce._

Vegeta nodded against his wife's shoulder, wrapping his arms around Bulma, then: “Can I love you tonight?”

Bulma wove her fingers with her husband's. “You can love me _every_ night.”

He pressed his lips to Bulma's shoulder. “That is a promise.”

The couple did their level best to keep noise to a minimum, lest their children wake up early and invade their bedroom. Alas, sometimes what you want isn't always what you get.

The taste of whiskey was gone from Vegeta's lips, but his mouth was still soft. He gently worked her mouth open with his tongue and pressed the tip of it against hers. A thrill running up and down his spine, Vegeta allowed Bulma to grasp him and work him against her tenderness.

After a little bit of time had passed, Bulma bit down on the side of her hand, her body shuddering. Her head swam in the release of her delicious tension as she looked up at her new husband. “Slip it to me.”

“My pleasure,” said he, and slid himself home. He made love to his wife as the sky brightened minutely and the zodiac burned.

“Pull out when you're nearly there,” she gasped after it was evident Vegeta was nearing his end. “It's an off-week, so don't cum inside me.”

“You could have mentioned this before,” Vegeta panted. “God damn it. Just as I was getting ready to... _uhn_.” He squeezed his eyes shut, and made an inexpressible sound of pleasure in the back of his throat. He arched his head back, exposing his jugular to his beloved. “Nearly there...” Vegeta's hand slid up the sheets on the bed, and clasped Bulma's slender fingers.

Bulma pressed her lips to his Adam's apple as his breath tore in and out of his throat. “Savor it, Sweets,” she said. The _Ouji's_ passion overtook him and he gasped his confirmation to his wife; Vegeta sank himself into Bulma with enough enthusiasm to rock the bed. When he found his finish, he made a strangled sound deep in his throat, then pulled himself from Bulma and spent his seed on her belly.

After the strength sapped from his muscles and he flopped to the bed, Vegeta pressed his cheek against Bulma's collarbone and a heavy susurrus emanated from his mouth. Bulma ran her fingers through his hair, before wrapping her arms around Vegeta's shoulders. “You know, it'd be easier on both of us if you would just use a rubber.”

“On that, we are in agreement,” said Vegeta, his eyes still closed. “You're not exactly regular.” He moved his body over Bulma's and made to hold his woman, then remembered the puddle of spunk he left on her stomach a wee bit too late. He made a disgusted sound and began to slide out of bed. “I'm going to get something to clean us up.”

“Don't bother. We'll just jump in the shower before the Bobbseys wake up.”

The couple gazed into each other's eyes, and snorted muffled laughter. Vegeta raised his head and kissed the corner of Bulma's mouth. She reciprocated by pressing her lips to his. Not to be outdone, Vegeta sucked at Bulma's lower lip; Bulma slipped her tongue into his waiting mouth. They pulled away from each other again, smiling. Vegeta glanced toward Bulma's bed-stand for a split second before giving some more attention to his darling. Bulma followed suit for a moment. He rubbed the tip of his nose with hers...just before they both whipped their heads toward Bulma's side of the bed.

“Whatcha doon?” Trunks had his hand in his mouth, smiling around his fingers.

Vegeta flushed an alarming shade of red. He glanced to Trunks' right, and was mortified to find Rus standing there, grinning and signing _Good morning!_ to his parents. “And Rus is here too,” said Vegeta in a conversational tone. “Trunks...how long have you two been standing there?”

“Iunno,” said Trunks, shrugging. “I guess before you started bouncin' on Mama.”

“Figures,” said Bulma. She couldn't help but laugh. Trunks was so innocent to what had just happened, yet he was completely oblivious to his parents' humiliation. Rus was already climbing on the bed to greet his father, who more often than not was quite happy to cuddle Rus and get a few more minutes of sleepy snuggles with the little one. Having said that, Vegeta was naked, smeared with his own semen, and a little

_(yeah, no...a LOT)_

embarrassed that he was literally caught with his pants down by his kids at the butt-crack of dawn while he was nailing his brand-spanking-new wife.

The baby stood on the foot of the bed. Rus bounced with glee on his parents' mattress. He looked down at the mess Bulma and Vegeta were, and tipped his head to the side. He brushed the tips of his fingers against his footie pajama top. _“...Naked?”_

Wiping away the mess he made on himself and Bulma with the tee shirt he fell asleep in, he nodded at his little son. “Yeah, you can say that.” He hooked his pajama bottoms out from under the bed, and yanked them on.

Trunks glanced at Mama while she pulled her favorite night shirt over her head. It was his favorite too: on the tee, a picture of a kitten hanging on for dear life from a tree branch, and the photo's caption cheekily read HANG IN THERE! He climbed into his parents' bed after Rus; Trunks snugged himself between Rus and Mama as Rus' little fingers twined with his big brother's.

The boys fell asleep nearly instantly, and Bulma looked at Vegeta and chuckled. “Not exactly a boring life we live, is it?” When Vegeta gravely shook his head, Bulma asked, “Maybe one day our lives will be a little less...hectic.”

Vegeta flashed that savage smile that made his wife's heart beat hard. “Heaven forbid.”


End file.
